


(y)our kind of people

by elisu



Series: all that glitters [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Crazy Rich Asians Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asian-American Character, Family, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Weddings, college professors! markhyuck, mahjong, tiger mums (if you know you know)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisu/pseuds/elisu
Summary: A story of two or more tigers, the people they love, and what makes the world go round.or:Donghyuck's world is turned upside down when he's dragged head-first into the sparkling opulence of Singapore's one percent. This is no regular meet-the-family indeed.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Series: all that glitters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871854
Comments: 28
Kudos: 152
Collections: Director's Cut Fest





	1. little lion

**prologue / eight**

In the thick of July some twenty-two years ago, a boy sits within the bounds of white leather and polished oak, looking out at the cloudy sky as the car he’s in reverses out of the driveway. Resting neatly on the seat next to his is a tuck box-sized suitcase, and on top of it sits a small doll in the shape of a lion cub, a seat belt of its own tucking it comfortably in place. ‘Property of Mark Lee,’ its name tag says, hand-written in neat print letters. 

As they enter the street, the boy spots something out of the corner of his eye. “Auntie, stop!” he exclaims, “I’ve got to say goodbye to the cat.” And Mark’s mother opens her mouth to protest, as the neighborhood stray has quite possibly been playing in less-than-sanitary areas (see: possibly every rubbish bin on the street, the nearest  _ longkang _ , or, in the worst case scenario... the public school). His mother shudders at the thought, but isn’t quick enough to restrain him from unbuckling his seatbelt, opening the door and leaping out of the car as soon as the engine stops. She watches him race over to the little animal, and purses her lips. She ought to be stricter with Mark, she thinks, especially since his dad’s away on a business trip. Then she sees him reaching a hand out to stroke its fur, then promptly stopping himself as if reading her mind. She lets out a sigh of relief.  _ Maybe she’s doing okay the way she is.  _ He’s striking up a conversation with the cat, she knows. His back is turned to the car and his words are inaudible but she can almost hear him saying something along the lines of a goodbye speech; a ‘make sure you take care of yourself while I’m away, okay? Make sure you tell me if any of the school kids bully you.” It’s childish, but Mark is a child. “You need to remember that,” she can imagine her own mother remarking. 

The maid catches her look in the rearview mirror and winks. “He’s growing up fast, isn’t he ma’am?” she says endearingly.

“Oh, faster than you would ever know, Auntie, faster than you would ever know.”

Together, they watch as Mark gives the cat one last wave and jogs back to the car. 

“Ah boy, you’re sweating already!” the maid exclaims, restarting the engine as he buckles his seatbelt again, “It’s very hot today,” Mark replies politely. His mother retrieves a linen handkerchief from her purse and hands it to him. 

“Thank you, mother. Will England be hot like this?” Mark asks, patting at his forehead. 

“Hmm… England will be hot, but just a different kind of hot,” she says. 

“What do you mean by a different kind?”

“Well dear, you will just have to wait and see.” 

  
  
  
  


_ She’s right _ , Mark thinks, as they touch down back in Singapore again after five days.  _ It is a different kind of hot.  _ He’s walking down the fold-out steps of the plane, toy lion in one hand and suitcase in the other, with a tan on the back of his neck that glows like freshly baked bread. Auntie will have a stroke when she discovers that his time in the English sun has earned him a toss of freckles, too, scattered across the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and Mark giggles at the idea. 

The sun welcomes him mercilessly now that he’s back, and he’s bathed fully in the familiar heat that hangs wet like a fog. It’s terribly suffocating, and usually makes him want to sprint as fast as he can to the nearest room with air conditioning, but just this once, just because it feels like home, he breathes it in and feels happy. 

  
  


Mark is eight years old. He knows how to tie his shoes and solve worded mathematical equations. He can speak four and a half languages fluently and read chapter books about history. His emotional range is growing--and rapidly so, but he thinks home is the most simplest of feelings. The easiest of all. It’s on the bookshelf in their house’s library, in his wooden desk at school. It’s saying hello to the cats and goodbye to Auntie when he leaves for school every morning. It’s the feeling he gets when his mother says Grandma is coming over on the weekend to make dumplings, and the feeling he gets when he gets to eat them. 

Mark Lee is back, now. He’s home.

  
  
  
  


**eighteen**

_ The second time Mark sets foot in Great Britain, he stays there for good, or so he thinks. The sudden sense of freedom he gets from moving halfway around the world for university makes him feel disorientated, like he’s a puppy being unleashed in a dog park for the first time. A world to discover but nothing to hold him back, however exciting or terrifying that would be.  _

_ The Natural History Museum is just as much of a wonder to him at eighteen as it was at eight, and Mark finds himself completely and utterly awestruck all over again as he stands frozen at its entrance, drinking in his view appreciatively as time slows despite the hoards of people filing in around him in groups. Here it stands, in all its majesty, and here he stands, almost ten years later but still so small in comparison. Instead of his mother’s hand he’s clutching the information brochure between his fingers, and he’s ready to relive the past all over again.  _

  
  
  


Mark makes a home out of Oxford. Insists that despite being able to afford his own apartment and a half (and a few more halves on top of that), it’s _ imperative _ that he moves into a shared dorm on campus to fulfil the  _ true university experience _ . Much to his mother’s despair, his father agrees and like that, he lands a room with another Singaporean. What are the chances?

  
  


Johnny Seo has jet black hair the first time they meet. He’s tall, athletic and unsurprisingly studying sports sciences and engineering. He arrives at the room a few hours after Mark does, and takes a liking to him immediately, as it seems. “He’s Asian too, thank goodness!” he exclaims in a thick Yorkshire accent, followed by a kind-looking woman Mark assumes to be his mother, “I have a good feeling about this year already.” Mark’s in the middle of folding a knit sweater, but he puts it down on the bed next to him as he stands up and walks over to the entrance to shake his new roommate and his mother’s hands. 

“Wah, so polite, this boy!” she grins, rolling the suitcase next to the empty bed, “our Johnny is in good hands,” 

She’s got an accent, he notices. Then it dawns on him.

Mark feels like the spiderman meme. 

“Auntie are you by any chance, Singaporean?” His heart rate quickens noticeably. 

“My gosh Mark, are you, too?” Johnny marvels, and it goes from there. 

  
  


After about two hours of non-stop conversation, Johnny’s mother leaves and the two boys are left alone in their new room. “I know you have my mum’s phone number now, but at the moment I’m about to do something that you can never, never tell her about,” Johnny says, softly as if he’s been listened to through the door. 

Mark’s not going to lie, he always thought it would be kind of sexy to know a psycho killer. 

The other boy tiptoes over to his luggage, and whips out a small package. “I want to go blonde!” he whispers loudly, and Mark feels his shoulders sink in relief.  _ Oh. well… _

“I’ve been wanting to bleach my hair since high school but I’ve always been too scared to ask, and I’m about thirty-ish percent sure that my parents would kill me, and I don’t know, I think my testosterone levels are heightened lately?”

“That’s...that’s great? I think you would look nice with blonde hair,” Mark provides, a little lamely, and Johnny beams, eyes forming little crescent moons and crinkling up at the corners endearingly. 

“Would you like to help me, then?”

You see, Mark Lee can do a lot of things. Has done a lot of things. He’s taken golf lessons, is pretty good at tennis, and can imitate four different types of bird calls. He knows how to drive expensive cars, talk to expensive people and tell the difference between Australian and Kiwi beef. What he’s never done, though, is give a new roommate a bleach job upon first meeting them. It would be reasonable for him to politely deny Johnny, as he definitely knows how to in at least six languages, but hours of frantic last-minute research into the ‘college experience’ on Reddit suggests the best solution is to deny reasonable. Which brings him (rather tentatively) to the small bathroom, where Johnny sets up a little plastic bowl and the box’s contents. 

It’s rather strange, Mark thinks, to be engaging in such activities so early on in his college life. But that must be what it’s all about.

**twenty-six**

The lecture theatre is completely silent, save for low rumbling of the heater and some unidentified bumping around outside. A class of sixty-two millennials collectively hold their breaths, by what’s happening on stage. The university students that, a couple of minutes ago, were whispering to each other and/or vigorously typing away in their notes documents, now sit with their full attention on the game. On a young economics professor, one of his students, and the cards on the table. 

The student fidgets slightly in his seat, a free hand pushing his head of curly long hair behind his ears, then adjusting his glasses, then finding its way back to the table, where the fingers drum the vinyl soundlessly. His eyes move periodically between his hand of four cards and the deck on the table, meeting everywhere but his professor’s eyes, which drill themselves tantalisingly into his face.

There’s a tangible feeling of tension in the air, one that makes even Mark hold his breath as he watches from the door. And then it happens. 

Like most defeats, it happens silently. The professor smirks expectantly, the type of knowing only a person comfortable with attention would love, then places his hand face up on the table. The reaction is immediate. The front row sees first, its members gasp, clap, cheer. The student, who remains seated even after his teacher gets up and takes a bow, has a look on his face only identifiable as ‘not knowing whether to laugh or to cry’. The students at the back crane their necks to get a glimpse of the outcome, Mark included, and delight in what they see. 

“You see, everyone,” the professor begins, “if there’s one thing I know about your classmate here, it’s that he’s cheap.” The students return to their documents once again and start to take notes. “So the method he’s using to play? He’s not playing to win, he’s playing to not lose. And that perfectly illustrates what we learnt today, doesn’t it?”

Mark blanks out for a little bit. His brain decides to focus on slightly more important things, like how animated Donghyuck gets when he’s speaking about the things that excite him, how the entire room is fully engaged and he knows it. Has all sixty-two uni kids wrapped around his finger. He notices how Donghyuck glows in a way that has nothing to do with the light. Thank  _ god _ he didn’t know him in college. Eighteen year old Mark would never have passed with a degree, the way he gets distracted like this. 

“...and that’s all for today! No new homework for now but remember, your papers on conditional probability are due next week. Class dismissed.”

As the students pack their belongings away and file out of the lecture theatre, Mark makes his way down the steps two at a time to meet Donghyuck, who’s fiddling with the cables of the projector. “Mr professor,” he teases affectionately, crouching down to help him, “what a class!” 

“Oh shut up, you,” Donghyuck replies, shooting his boyfriend a grin, “Where are we going tonight?”

“Do I even need to tell you?”

  
  
  
  


Gild is a dessert bar tucked away in a corner of the city. It’s small enough to be called exclusive, busy enough to suggest otherwise, and conveniently out of the way of any NYU students’ social spheres. The walls are lined with white tiles and a tasteful selection of vintage posters in big gold frames, and minimal copper bulbs hanging low from black wires provide a dim champagne glow that brushes warmly over the spread of baked goods on display. The top shelf? Sourdough loaves. Under that? Same but gluten free. And in the cabinet beside the counter is Donghyuck’s favourite section: the desserts. A colourful array of gateaux, puddings and pastries line the shelves like jewels set into a stainless steel crown. The seasonal menu means they try a new one every week, and tonight a red velvet pudding paired with caramel cream cheese ice cream and freeze dried raspberries looks particularly inviting. 

There’s a spot at the bar that’s nearly always empty, and Mark and Donghyuck sit there every time. They stay for as long as they’re allowed to, recounting their every week over sweets and coffee and enjoying each other’s company under the warm atmosphere of the room. This time, though, two stylishly dressed socialites are seated in that spot. The couple don’t think much of it, and settle down at the next table. “I’ll go order, okay?” Mark says, as soon as they’ve sat down and discussed what they want for supper. Donghyuck smiles sweetly and nods. 

He scans the room like he usually does upon arrival, drinking in the space around him and the people in it. The bar is comfortably packed- as per usual, and the sound of Friday night conversations mixed in with the mild jazz music playing in the background never fails to make him feel happy inside. He grew up in New York. Is used to the everyone-minding-their-own-business-together kind of vibe that likes to hang out in public places. So the feeling he gets when he reverts his view back to the counter to see the two women staring at him and whispering? It’s rather foreign, to say the least. He stares back, not knowing what to do, and they give each other a look that confuses Donghyuck immensely, before turning back to face each other and type away furiously at their phones. 

Mark returns to their table a few moments later, carrying their dessert in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. As soon as he puts the plates down on the table and Donghyuck can even begin to speak, his phone starts ringing from the inside of his jacket. “One moment, Hyuck, it’s the uni,” he says, apologetically, and Donghyuck nods his head. _ It’s fine _ , he replies, smiling with his eyes and digging into the pudding with a fork, and like that, Donghyuck is left alone again. This time, though, with food. 

He keeps his eyes down, focuses on the richness of the pudding, the mix of hot and cold and sweet and bitter flavours that melt in his mouth, and the tart raspberries that make the dish all the more exciting.  _ What a pudding _ ! Donghyuck thinks.  _ This phone call sure is taking a while. _

He’s finished a substantial amount of the dessert before Mark finally comes back to the table. “Hmm,” he says, eyeing the almost-empty plate. “Lecture times are being changed up in the history department. I’ve got four morning classes now instead of the normal two… poor kids,” “Poor kids,” Donghyuck nods solemnly in agreement, “I can’t imagine how you managed to maintain a normal sleep schedule all the way through college, you freak,”

Mark giggles. “I wasn’t a stinky gamer boy, that’s how,” he teases, reaching over to poke his boyfriend’s cheek. “Just… just eat your dessert Mark,” Donghyuck says as he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and pretending to be offended. Mark is painfully correct, and Donghyuck’s questionable past is indeed that of an ex-stinky gamer boy. 

After Mark finishes the remaining quarter ( _ “actually I would say it’s more of a third” _ ) of the pudding and his cup of coffee, the boyfriends bring the dishes to the counter, thank the owners and start to make their way home. 

They’re laughing as they banter, holding hands like children and playfully teasing each other as they walk- or almost skip towards the train station. It’s just the two of them at this point, the two of them and the city. 

They’re in an empty carriage on the subway. It’s ten twenty three exactly, and Donghyuck’s head is silently resting on Mark’s shoulder. Neither of them are speaking, but neither of them are sleeping either. Just them and a good amount of comfortable silence. Mark feels content on nights like these, when the excitement of the day has muted down considerably but still lingers like a subtle sweetness on your tongue. The sun leans on his shoulder, and he feels his warmth emanate where his hair brushes against the bare skin on his neck. It feels golden. Donghyuck seems to feel the same, with his eyes half shut and smiling lazily at their reflection in the dark glass in front of them. He buries his head further into the curve of Mark’s neck and takes his hand in his. 

It’s now that the memory of the two ladies at the bar today hits Donghyuck, and he remembers that he wanted to tell Mark about it; express his confusion. But this moment right now feels sacred. Ethereal. A little too good to be true. A little more and Donghyuck thinks that he may float away like a helium balloon, high up, up, up and above the blinking lights of this concrete city. When Mark lets out a sigh, strokes his hair and leans down to place a kiss on his forehead? Well, Donghyuck thinks he’s there already. And it’s then that he lets the concern melt away, trickle between the train doors and fly away into the night for another time.  _ Another day,  _ Donghyuck thinks.  _ Let’s just be happy tonight.  _

  
  
  


The next morning’s breakfast in Mark’s kitchen is that of leftover stir-fry, and some scrambled eggs. Donghyuck’s house upstate has an orange tree in the backyard, and his mother always remembers to bring over a bag of them whenever she visits the city. Hence, the overflowing fruit bowl. Donghyuck has appointed Mark the official orange slicer on this fine Saturday morning, mainly so he can cook the eggs (“without you setting the kitchen on fire or, worse, burning the chopsticks like you did last time,”). Mark is in the middle of slicing the fruit with a charming amount of enthusiasm when his phone rings. 

“Ah, crap. My hands are sticky Hyuck can you get that?”

“It’s your mom. I’ll put her on speaker is that okay?”

“Extremely okay,” Mark says with a smile, “thanks Duck,”

Donghyuck flips the egg, then picks up the call. “Mark?” says her voice, over the phone. “Hi, mother,” Mark replies, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. And you? Have you eaten breakfast yet?” 

“I’m just about to, don’t worry ma. Is there something wrong?”

“Does there have to be, for me to call now?” 

Mark chuckles, then slides the orange pieces off the chopping board into a bowl. “Well, usually yes.”

He can almost imagine her rolling her eyes. “Very funny,” she says. “I heard you’ve got a new boyfriend, Mark. Is that true?” 

Donghyuck’s jaw drops. The chopsticks fall to the floor with a clatter and his heart feels like it’s trying to escape its cage as he bends down slowly to pick them up.  _ It’s no big deal,  _ he tells himself. None at all. But once he’s crouched on the floor, he lets himself stay there for a second longer. _ What the fuck _ , he thinks.  _ How did she know _ ? 

“You’re one step ahead of me again, mother,” Mark laughs again, in that stupidly nice way of his. “How did you find out?” 

Donghyuck hasn’t met Mark’s parents before. From the stories he’s heard, he knows that they are quite possibly some from a rather medium-to-large sized family, live in Singapore (at least most of them do?) and do business with… an airline company? From what he remembers, Mark’s mentioned a few rather niche childhood memories from his childhood, some with his cousins and others without.Other than that, he’s left only to assume. 

“Everyone knows,” her voice says, not unkindly, but Donghyuck swears he gets the chills.  _ Who is everyone?  _

The rest of their conversation is short, but Donghyuck completely zones out, stares down the grain of the wooden floor beneath him. Why is this such a big deal? It’s not. Not at all. Just some minor (major) stalking. A minor (major) breach of privacy. God, what else does Everyone know? His question hasn’t been answered yet. Who is Everyone? This is fine. This is completely fine. 

Mark ends the phone call with a sigh, and a calm smile that greatly contrasts how Donghyuck is currently feeling. He crouches down to where Donghyuck is still squatting, somewhat endeared by his boyfriend’s disposition. “Hey,” Mark says, putting a hand on his shoulder, “are you okay?” Mark’s hand is gentle, and Donghyuck feels his edge soften tenfold under his touch, like… like that kinetic sand shit that melts into a blob after you’ve sliced it. Not that Donghyuck would know. It’s not like he’s spent an ungodly amount of time watching Instagram videos with Mark to procrastinate marking assignments. 

“I’m okay,” he says, finally. “I think.”

“It’s about my mum knowing, isn’t it?” 

“Mhm.”

Mark sighs and ruffles his hair. “Last night two of her… associates happened to be at the bar at the same time as we were. They saw us, and recognised me, and that’s how she knows.”

Oh. “That makes sense,” Donghyuck murmurs, the memory of the two women dawning on him. 

Mark’s brows furrow. “Why? Did they give you looks?”

“Oh Mark I was so  _ confused _ ,” Donghyuck replies. “I should have asked you last night,”

Mark pulls a face, and the two of them start laughing like children, sitting close together on the kitchen floor. 

“Oh, shit. Are the eggs burnt?” Mark says suddenly, scrambling onto his feet to check the skillet. “No,  _ Muck _ , I turned the gas off before taking the phone call.” Mark grins and takes the eggs off the stove. He leans over to get some forks from the drawer, as well as a heat-proof mat, and sits back down on the floor. Placing the pan on the mat in front of them, he brings a hand up to hold Donghyuck’s cheek and kisses him on the mouth. “Alas, my silly boyfriend is still the best one at adulting,” he says, while their faces are an inch apart. “No, Muck,” the silly boyfriend retorts softly, “you know we’re equally terrible.” Mark sighs again, happily. “But we’re perfect for each other,” he breathes. “Gross,” Donghyuck whispers, and kisses him again to shut up. 

  
  


After they’ve finished their eggs, and are moving onto the bowl of orange slices, Mark brings up the phone call again. “So did you hear what my mum was saying, about Jaemin’s wedding?” 

“Your best friend Jaemin? The one with the hot swimmer guy?” 

“Well… Jeno’s not really a swimmer, he just swims,”

“That’s what swimmers do?”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Anyway… yes, that Jeno. They’re getting married next month! Do you want to…” his voice trails off. 

“To?” 

“Well, I’m part of the groom’s party and that means I’ll be going back to Singapore for a week or two. Would you like to come with me? Take a trip East?” 

Donghyuck pauses. That does sound like a nice idea. And with the semester break just around the corner… 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to!” Mark says quickly. “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to-,”

“Oh no, I do,” Donghyuck says, “I do want to. I… well why not?” he grins. “I’d love to see where you grew up.”

Mark beams. “Oh Duck, you’re going to love it.”


	2. makes the world go round

_ Heat _ is the first thing Donghyuck notices when he and Mark’s plane lands. Even while onboard he can feel it, close-hugging and humid. It’s a welcome feeling to Donghyuck, after having been uncomfortably cold and uncomfortably dry in this metal tube for a sickening amount of hours. His boyfriend in the seat next to him, though, makes it a little more bearable. 

What is it about the things you love, that makes talking about them so magical? Time seems to have moved at double speed while Mark’s been talking about his hometown. The way his eyes light up and his entire face glows telling Donghyuck about all the little spots he wants to show him, is something Donghyuck doesn’t ever think he will be able to forget. All the people, all the places, all the foods he’s being told he’s absolutely  _ got _ to try, he can’t wait to see it for himself. 

And of course, there’s the whole meeting-the-family feeling that’s been pulsing in his brain like a rather active elephant in whatever hypothetical room there is. Seeing where Mark grew up. How he grew up. Seeing all the stories he’s been told about eccentric relatives and secret corners of his house come to life. Mark has met Donghyuck’s mother before, over pork buns in an East Village dimsum place. Which went well, fortunately. If this trip goes anywhere near that well, Donghyuck thinks he’ll be able to sleep easy tonight. Admittedly, Irene sounds scarily formidable over the phone, and from the slivers of knowledge Donghyuck has of Mark’s on-the-strict-side upbringing, but he’s met lots of Chinese parents like that. This will be fine. 

“So,” Donghyuck queries, as they’re waiting cramped in the queue, pillows around their necks and feet shuffling slightly forwards every few minutes or so, as passengers collect down their startlingly weighty-looking baggage from the overhead compartments all around them, “tell me about your family.”

Mark smiles to himself, “Oh my,” he sighs with a glint in his eye. “Where do I start?” 

“Okay.” He exhales. “Okay.”

“I’m scared.”

“Don’t be. On one side of my unusually large family we’ve got the Tae brothers. Taeil, Taeyong. CEOs. Nothing much more to say than that, if we’re going to be honest. Both of them are nice, but I didn’t really see them much growing up because they went to school in China and Indonesia.”

Interesting. 

“Then, there’s Yukhei, or Lucas, as we call him. He’s… well... he’s just like a puppy dog personified.”

“A puppy dog!” Donghyuck loves puppy dogs. 

“A puppy dog. He was in my class in primary school. Captain of the swim team and excelled in IT. Was terrible at maths though.”

“Like you?”

“Come on, Duck, I wasn’t that bad.”

Donghyuck gives Mark a pointed look.

“I think I’ve told you about Renjun before?”

“You haven’t.”

“Nice. He’s one of my favourites, actually. A darling. We’ve got one of his paintings framed in the guest bedrooms and it’s absolutely magnificent. He paints just about everything, and makes sculptures too. Great at painting people. He’s a Bachelor-type?”

“A Bachelor-type?”

“You’ll know when you meet him.”

“I see. Oh, and what about Hyunjin? How’s she like?” Donghyuck asks, holding the fleece blanket close to his chest and crossing his legs in his seat. 

“Hyunjin! My lovely wild child cousin,” Mark giggles. “Last time I heard from, or at least… about her, was last year. Everyone’s pretending she’s some sort of disgrace, but they know they can’t help but adore her. Remember that handsome Malay guy? The real estate agent?”

“Jaehyun!” 

‘Yeah!”

“Her mum tried setting her up with him at a family gathering in July and when she found out, she made sure everyone could hear her and said, very loudly, ‘Sorry Jaehyun. You’re nice but I’m lesbian.’”

“No  _ way _ !”

“ _ Yes _ way! I love her.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, in admiration and pure, unadulterated respect. “I want to be Hyunjin when I grow up,” Donghyuck says, with a note of finality. 

“Don’t we all.” Mark replies, a fond look on his face. 

  
  


They reach the exit of the plane, finally, and hand their boarding passes to the smiling cabin crew to get stamped. Mark’s delight is unmissable. “The Changi airport smell!” He exclaims, excitedly. “Doesn’t it smell nice?”

Donghyuck stops in his path and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. He nods. It doesn’t really smell like anything, really. Better than most airports he’s been to, but Donghyuck reckons his boyfriend has been pavlov-ed. “It does,” he says, anyway. 

“Now tell me about Jaemin. He’s the one getting married, right?”

“He is,” Mark replies, “He’s Jeno’s husband-to-be. Goodness, that sounds strange. My best friend. Getting married. Who would’ve thought? I’ve known Jeno since I could walk and Jaemin since sec four. And now they’re together and getting MARRIED. This is doing my head in.”

Donghyuck throws his head back and laughs, patting his boyfriend on the head. “Let it sink in, baby. Your friends are getting old.”

“Indeed. Jaemin has acted like a hag ever since secondary school and now he’s finally playing the role.”

“He sounds like an interesting person.”

“He’s a sweetheart.”

  
  
  


Donghyuck soon experiences this for himself, after they pass the several gates and customs areas and collect their luggage from the big black conveyor belt. They walk out into the vast lobby and before he has time to truly marvel the world outside of the airport, he’s bombarded with bleached blonde heads, balloons, and two pairs of very affectionate arms. 

The blondes at question? Nearly-weds Jeno Lee and Jaemin Na. They’re both slightly taller than Donghyuck, and have wide smiles on their textbook-pretty faces. Gosh, was being attractive an entrance requirement at their secondary school? Donghyuck takes a moment to absorb the excitement, while Mark and Jeno do their… bro thing. 

“Duuuuude! Good to see you man!” Mark hoots, slapping Jeno affectionately on the back. “So glad to have you back, brother!” Jeno replies. 

They are bros.

“Hi, Donghyuck. I’ve heard so much about you,” Jaemin chirps, shaking his hand. ‘It’s so good to see you in person!”

And so it goes. 

  
  


After they exchange greetings and hugs, they make their way out of the tall glass doors and into the warm night air in no time, hauling their luggage into the boot of Jeno’s car. “Gosh, it’s lucky we arrived at night, Duck. It’s so much cooler than it is in the day,” Mark says, buckling his seatbelt. “C-cool?” Donghyuck says, already sweating from the two minutes they’ve been outside. The others all laugh. “Americans,” Jaemin teases, not unkindly as he winks at Mark from the passenger’s seat. They pull out of the parking lot and Donghyuck sinks comfortably into the leather backseat for the first time in hours. It’s rather silly, to think that he’s been doing nothing on the plane but he’s this tired anyway. He looks over and sees Mark, who is excitedly pointing out various things outside. The mango trees at the side of the road. The library that’s been renovated beyond recognition since he last visited. His old primary school! And Donghyuck’s heart feels like it’s about to burst from endearment.  _ So this is what it’s like. _

“So, where are we going now?” Donghyuck asks, when he’s finally able to tear his eyes away. “To eat!” Jeno says. “A second dinner for us today because nearly-weds need to eat more.” Donghyuck can see his eyes lift at the corners through the rearview mirror. It’s cute. He looks like a Kaomoji. “Is that how it works now, dear?”Jaemin says, rolling his eyes and smiling immediately after. “Of course, Jaem! To give us energy for greeting all the relatives.” 

While the others banter, Donghyuck zones out a little, focuses on the sights outside of the window. Mark’s hometown, as it seems, is one that never sleeps. Something like light pollution. Something like trees and green that scale impossible heights. Buildings of all shapes and sizes that are filled to the brim with life. Maybe it’s just the speed at which they’re travelling, but everything here seems to move exhilaratingly fast. There is just so much to see. A blink-and-you-miss-it but you’d better not blink kind of city. What a wonderful place indeed. 

“So where to, tonight? We’re going to Newton’s, right?” Mark pipes, slivers of wind rushing in from the open car windows and rippling through his hair. 

“As per usual.” 

“Solid. Oh Duck, you’ll like this.” Mark has that glint in his eye, and Donghyuck swears he’d go anywhere in the world if it meant being able to see his stupid-pretty boyfriend smiling like that for a little longer. Instantaneously, Mark’s ears flush pink and Donghyuck realises he’s spoken his mind. “Gross!” Jeno yells, laughing as he parks the car at the side of the road. “It’s a bit late now,” he says. “There probably won’t be any parking spots, so we’ll have to walk a bit. Is that okay?” 

There’s a hint of apology in his voice, which Mark notices immediately. “Oh of course it’s fine!” He rushes to say, and Donghyuck nods in agreement, and soon they’re out of the car and on their way by foot. 

It’s unmistakable, the fiance aura that surrounds Jeno and Jaemin. They’re walking on the footpath, in front of Donghyuck and Mark, and even without any sort of physical contact, there’s a sort of blatant intimacy that has them in a little bubble. A world of their own. Donghyuck can’t look at them and  _ not _ feel like he’s intruding. 

The walk to the hawker centre is short, and soon Donghyuck can see a large night market full of food stalls and people. The colourful signs and collection of foreign smells that waft in the air remind him that he hasn’t eaten since the packaged beef rice on the plane, and his stomach grumbles. They find a table in the middle of it all, then Jaemin takes out a packet of tissues from the pocket of his denim shorts and tosses it in the centre. “Chope,” Mark explains, “It’s like.. Marking your territory.” Like ‘dibs’, Donghyuck infers. He guesses modern problems require modern solutions. 

They split up into pairs to order food, and Donghyuck watches with wonder as his boyfriend orders two steaming bowls of laksa from one smiling vendor (Uncle Hu, he calls him), and a plate piled high with chicken and pork satay from the one next door (whom he calls Ah-Ben). “What are these?” Donghyuck’s holding the tray with both hands, and gesturing with his chin pointedly to some round, palm-sized white puddings. (Modern problems, once again, require? Say it with me...).

“Oh! That’s chwee kueh. They’re just rice cakes, and you eat them with pickled vegetables. Do you want to try some?” 

“I think we have space for some on this tray. Why not?”

Chwee kueh, as it turns out, proves to be  _ more _ than ‘just rice cakes’. It’s the first thing Donghyuck tries when the two sit back down at their table, and it’s godly. Perhaps he is just hungry at this point, but the smooth, almost creamy rice cake combined with the strong pickle is a match made in heaven. Donghyuck wants to cry. How is he ever going to survive without this when he goes home to New York? 

“So… do you like it?” Mark muses, a knowing smile on his face. 

“Do I… like it?” Donghyuck repeats, jokingly (or is he?) wiping away a tear. 

Mark lets out a full, hearty laugh and claps his hands. “Success! Now try the laksa.” He slides the bowl in front of him, and waits expectantly. 

Jeno and Jaemin arrive back at the table just in time to see Donghyuck’s eyes widen upon tasting the spicy, salty broth. Mark chews on his skewer of satay happily. “I told you the food here was good,” he says. 

Their trays contain a plate of nasi lemak, a dessert Donghyuck knows is ice jelly, and another which Donghyuck has never seen before. “Cendol,” Jaemin says, pointing to the brown shaved ice and green jelly. 

They buy beer from a middle-aged woman who collects their money in a coin purse strapped around her waist, and eat and drink and talk until both their hearts and stomachs are full. This is the pinnacle of Asian food, Donghyuck reckons. 

Jeno tells Mark about the time he got in a fight defending him during primary school, when they were both eight years old and a family friend took Jeno’s lunch money. “I lost,” Mark adds, matter-of-factly. “It was very sad.” The table roars with laughter and like this, the night passes and they’re back in the car, on the way to their hotel. 

Jaemin swaps places with Mark this time, so Mark and Jeno can sit together. “You know,” he says to Donghyuck once he’s seated in the back, “I haven’t seen Mark this happy in a long time.”  _ Me too, _ Donghyuck thinks. “Well, you haven’t exactly seen him at all in a long time, have you?” He banters with a chuckle. 

Their hotel is by the bay, and the drive there winds through the colourful cosmos of urban sprawl and city lights. The sunroof of Jeno’s car is down, and the cool breeze whizzes through their hair as they speed through the night. Mark has his fingertips on the edge of the window, as if reaching out to grasp every part of home he can get. The light plays in patterns on his face, and when he looks back to smile at Donghyuck, he can see galaxies in his eyes. 

“Do you know what I mean?” Jaemin murmurs, when Mark turns his gaze out the window. “Yeah,” Donghyuck says in reply. “I do.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


The next morning is spent lazily, with little regard to time zones or any sort of schedule. The nearly-weds went home last night after dropping Mark and Donghyuck at their hotel and helping them move their bags, and as soon as they checked into their room and brushed their teeth, they knocked out immediately from post-flight exhaustion. By magic or some other type of miracle, they woke up just before sunrise, and laid in bed for hours afterwards, watching the sunrise and then doing absolutely nothing just because they could. 

When Donghyuck tries to move out of bed to get a little closer to the window and truly soak in the bayside view, he feels Mark’s arms tighten around his waist. He hears a little, “No,” from his side, muffled by the blankets, and looks down to see Mark’s round eyes smiling at him once again like a child’s. Well, there’s not much he can do now. Pity, they’ll have to stay like this for just a little longer. 

  
  


Tonight is the night that Donghyuck will meet Mark’s family for the first time, and the thought of it makes his stomach churn. Not in a bad way, no, but enough to make him feel like he’s either going to dissolve into a puddle or throw up one. Both not very appealing things to experience, he’ll admit this much. He’s reuniting with his college roommate Ten in the afternoon, though, and that is significantly less of a challenge to worry about. He’ll not have seen him in years, Ten having moved back here to live with his family after they both graduated. A small part of Donghyuck fears Ten will have changed after all this time, but he knows worrying will do him no good, and that he’ll find out for himself in only a few hours’ time, anyway. 

  
  


When his taxi pulls into Ten’s driveway later that day, he knows that his old college friend now dons a head of bleached blonde hair. Not because he’s seen him yet, but because he dug out his old Facebook account to stalk his photos just an hour prior.  _ Blonde seems to be a recurring theme on this trip _ , Donghyuck thinks to himself, when he pays the driver and steps out of the car. What he hasn’t seen, though, is where his friend lives.

What a sight Ten’s house is. His neighbourhood seems to be full of these majestic, expensive-looking two-storey properties. The ones with high ceilings and well-manicured hedges and round-about driveways with fountains and/or brass sculptures of greyhounds, horses or white people alike. Ten’s family house has four white pillars of marble guarding their front door, behind an intricately crafted fountain with four tiers and gold gilting. A spherical lamp sits elegantly on top, like a pearl posing in its shell. The tall black gates shift open grandly, and Ten runs out into the driveway, excitedly in his silk pajamas.  _ So he hasn’t changed one bit, _ Donghyuck thinks to himself, relieved, when he throws his arms around him, laughing.  _ How could he have? _

Donghyuck hasn’t changed much himself, since college. He’s still a good amount of good and an equal amount of not, a healthy balance that Ten always said would ‘get him going places’ someday. And now he’s here. 

Ten’s mother insists that one, Donghyuck calls her Auntie Li, and two, she takes him on a tour of the house. “It’s because she decided to have it renovated and spent too much money in the process,” Ten later tells him. “It was a mid-life crisis decision that she won’t admit to regretting.” 

Their home’s interior is just as grand as its outer facade, Donghyuck soon discovers. Auntie Li tells him one of its room’s designs is inspired by the Hall of Mirrors in Versaille as they walk through it, in all its gold-plated glory. It sits on the fine line between tacky and impressive, and by the way Ten rolls his eyes when his mother’s back is turned, his opinion seems to lean towards the former. 

Donghyuck can’t help but think about the times his own mother had money-related struggles when he was growing up when his eyes take in the sight of all that gold, all the times he’d peek outside his childhood bedroom door to see his mum bent over the kitchen counter with documents sprawled out in front of her. He shakes that image from his mind. That was a small part of his memory, and he definitely was not the only one whose family had financial issues. Now his mother’s settled well into New York and her accounting job, and lives comfortably, but the thought comes back to tap him on the shoulder every now and then. 

When he’s led to the equally opulently decorated dining room, he’s met with the rest of Ten’s family- his father (who Donghyuck assumes he’d call Uncle Li), and older brother Sicheng. Sicheng greets Donghyuck without a smile, saying a barely-heard ‘hello’ and then bringing his gaze to his empty plate immediately afterwards, which his dad disapprovingly scolds him for. He avoids eye contact with the rest of the table from then on, and Donghyuck is slightly taken aback, but decides not to think too much of it. He’s heard from Ten a few times before about his brother being shy, anyway. 

Ten’s parents are very much friendly- a little overwhelmingly so. They prod Donghyuck with jokes about America (to which Ten responds by glaring at them pointedly) and questions about his job. “You know, Ah-Cheng,” his father fake-whispers, nudging Sicheng with the tip of his elbow, “This is the type of guy you should date.” Donghyuck freezes in his seat.  _ I am just sitting _ , he mutters silently under his breath. Sicheng lifts his head slowly, and Donghyuck thinks the idea of the nicely furnished floor opening up and swallowing him in whole currently seems very appealing. He takes another bite of the mantou he’s eating, and his eyes narrow in a cold glare. “That’s what we’ve been saying for ages, Sicheng! And now Donghyuck is here. Now’s your chance!” Aunty Li adds, gesturing enthusiastically. “Ma-” Ten starts in protest, but cuts off abruptly when Sicheng stands up in his chair, and shoots Donghyuck one last icy look before storming out of the room. 

There’s an awkward silence that follows Sicheng’s heated departure, and Uncle Li gestures towards the spread of chilli crab, mantou buns and fruit salad held in an intricately carved hollow watermelon. “Eat more,” he says To Donghyuck. ‘This is for you.” Donghyuck nods hurriedly and chews on a piece of kiwi. 

Ten pushes the bread soullessly around his plate with a gold fork, looking over at Donghyuck defeatedly and cringing in apology for the mealtime drama, and Donghyuck scrunches his nose in a smile, mouthing, “It’s okay,” in response. Because it wasn’t his fault in the first place. 

“Well,” he says, sitting a little straighter in his seat. “I’m actually here with my boyfriend Mark. We’re attending a wedding and… that’s why we’re visiting.” Will that make things less awkward? He hopes so. 

“Oh, a wedding?” Auntie Li chirps, interested. “Whose is it?” 

“Ah, his best friend! Jeno… Lim? Lee? Yes. Jeno Lee.” 

Silence. 

Ten’s father’s jaw drops. His wife looks at him, as if to make sure she heard correctly. Ten gawks at Donghyuck with eyes wide, looking at  _ him _ as if making sure he heard correctly. 

“You… know them?” Donghyuck begins, a little taken aback. 

“ _ Everyone _ knows him.” Ah, there it is again. Everyone. Everyone except for Donghyuck knows what the hell is going on, it seems. 

“Your boyfriend can’t be… Mark Lee, right? The one you’re here with?” Ten’s mum says, slowly. 

“Mark Lee like the comedian?” His dad asks, then cringes slightly at the thought. 

“No dad, the other Mark Lee,” Ten groans, putting his fork down to rub his temples. “The crazy rich one.” 

  
  


Well, this is some news.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**a week prior, in new york /**

  
  


“Are you sure this is necessary?” Donghyuck asks, as he rummages absent-mindedly through the racks of clothes, pushing the wire hangers around on their beams and pretending to care about the shirts hanging off of them. His mother, clearly a little more enthusiastic than he is, pulls a sweater out of the selection and holds it up to his shoulders from a distance, leaning back and squinting to evaluate its ‘suitability’. 

“Ma, I’m meeting his parents in Singapore, not Manhattan. What’s the use of me even bringing a sweater on that trip?” 

She lets out a sigh, and smiles to herself. “Ah.. yes. What a pity, this would look so nice on you.” 

“I could always just wear a shirt I already have, mum. I doubt they’ll mind,” he says, following behind her as she eyes something red poking out from behind a pair of jeans. 

“It’s not really about that, Hyuck. But first impressions are very important.” She says this with a note of finality, sizing up the red shirt in her hands. “You say you haven’t heard much about his family, have you?” 

“Mm.”

“It can’t be because he’s embarrassed, right?”

“Why would he be embarrassed?” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, then smiles at the genuine curiosity on his mother’s face. 

“I don’t know, maybe his parents are poor.” 

_ Money makes the world go ‘round _ .  _ Donghyuck is an economics professor, the oldest child of an immigrant family. He should know this much by now. _

He fights the urge to roll his eyes again, and takes the shirt out of her hands, lining it up with his shoulders in front of the mirror. “And would you be okay with that, ma? If they were poor?” He replies, only half jokingly. 

“Of course I would, Hyuck. I would support you no matter who you decide to marry.” 

  
  


He sees her eyes flick to the shelf of rings behind them. They’re not wedding rings, just ornamental costume pieces, but they may as well be. Oh, to put a fortune’s worth on a rock glued to a metal band. Humans are truly stupid when in love. The thought of it being Mark though, it makes him reconsider. 

  
  


Donghyuck sighs. “I guess the shirt does look nice,” he says, in defeat. 

‘That’s my boy.”


	3. into the tiger's lair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg this is so bad of me but i've been very kindly notified that i accidentally say 'eleanor' instead of irene once in here? i am not sure if it is in this chapter or another one but yes that is a typo! it's meant to be irene who is mark's mum. and i will try to find it again later but at the moment i have looked through and can't find it so if you see it and get confused i am so so sorry!

Ten drives like a madman. Hell, this is the one thing Donghyuck doesn’t miss from their college days. “Dudebro, you sure you can’t go any slower?” He asks from the passenger seat, clutching the door handle with both hands in an attempt to feel a little more secure. “I don’t think we’re even late.”

“Call me dudebro again and I’ll go faster,” Ten tilts his head to the side and replies, tongue between his teeth because he’s still the mischievous college fuckboy he was all those years ago. 

“You’re impossible.”

“You love me.”

They’re not late, really. Just had a little more to do to get ready than Donghyuck had originally planned for. Upon discovering his boyfriend’s identity, Ten saw it necessary to sit Donghyuck down in his walk-in wardrobe and explain that, no, Mark’s family was not just rich, but ‘crazy rich’. One of the most affluent families on the island, in fact. And by no means was he going to allow him to attend a dinner party at their house wearing a shirt that made him look like an  _ angbao _ . (Ouch? Money was spent on that… ). After a thorough ransack through Ten’s extensive garment collection, they settled on some crisp brown dress pants and a flowy emerald shirt with a subtle, silky sheen. Donghyuck even let Ten put eyeshadow on him, after a substantial amount of time spent coercing. 

Mark had sent his house’s address to Donghyuck via text, and Donghyuck forwarded it to Ten, who copied and pasted it into his car’s GPS, bringing us here- seemingly the middle of nowhere. 

“Are you sure he sent the right address, Hyuck? There’s just… trees and shit here,” Ten says, leaning over the steering wheel and peering into the dark. It’s something of a surprise that even in a city as light-polluted as this one, it’s almost pitch black here. The headlights provide little visibility for their surroundings, the thick jungle being all they can see. There’s a black gate in front of them. Perhaps he did give the wrong address after all-

A face appears in the window next to him, and Donghyuck almost yells in surprise. It’s a guard. A rather intimidating one, in uniform and staring them down like they’ve come to ask for an extension on their assignment- and he’s a professor about to say no. Frightening stuff. It’s no help that he’s carrying a gun that’s approximately the size of a small child, either. 

And oh- another one. There’s another one, on Ten’s side of the car. Donghyuck gulps and silently prays that some type of mistake has been made.

Ten winds down the window a little, and says, as confidently as he can, “This the Lee residence? I am uh.. I’m Ten and I’m driving my friend here,” he gestures towards the seat next to him, and Donghyuck waves, “... Donghyuck. I’m Donghyuck Lee?” 

The uniformed guards look at each other, then walk back to the booth to open the gates. 

Turns out they didn’t come to the wrong address after all. 

The road to the Lee residence is long and obscured, like the darkest and leafiest of corridors. A heavy atmosphere of anticipation hangs like a blanket, for the worse or for the better. The clang of doors closing behind them makes it all the more unsettling.  _ No turning back now,  _ their metallic echo seems to call. 

And then they see it. Off-white pillars, a brick-red roof. European-style windows that spill out a rich, yellow glow from within. Banana trees that pose as a veil in front of the sophisticated, seventies-inspired architecture. As they get closer, the sound of guests’ laughter and lively jazz music becomes louder, the double bass rumbling through the ground beneath their feet. Much of it is a little bit hidden, still, a little bit muffled. But there he is, waiting at the front door. As clear as day. 

Mark Lee, stupidly handsome and wearing an all-white suit without any sort of warning. 

He walks up to their car and opens the door. You know, like he’s the male lead of some rom-com and/or kpop fanfiction. He extends an arm to help Donghyuck out of the car and greets him with a close hug, before pulling away to admire his outfit. “Why, you look beautiful tonight, my love,” he says, in a slightly hushed voice. “Ten put eyeliner on me. It looks good, doesn’t it?” Donghyuck only half jokes in reply. 

Mark leans down to say hello to Ten and invites him in for dinner. He denies, when asked for the first time. “Are you sure?” Mark asks, a glint in his eye. “Nope! I’ll come to dinner.” Because who is he to turn down such an opportunity?

  
  


Donghyuck and Mark link arms and walk into the soiree, and Donghyuck tilts his head towards him, whispering, “I thought this was just a family dinner.” Mark winks, “I thought so too.” 

The house is somehow even more impressive on the inside than it is out, and in a noticeably more tasteful sense than Ten’s family home is, Donghyuck notices. Its walls are painted a pistachio green colour and its floor is hardwood, lined with gorgeously patterned Persian rugs. Intricately painted Chinese ceramics are displayed on antique-looking pieces of glossy mahogany furniture and… is that a taxidermy tiger in the corner of the room? 

It stands on its hind legs and has a threatening look on its face, jaws bared to reveal a row of sharp, undoubtedly varnished teeth. Burglars must have a fun time seeing this when they break in. If they can break in, or at least get past the gates. 

Upon seeing the rest of the guests dressed to the nines in capes and suits and gowns of class beyond comprehension, Donghyuck is glad that Ten wrangled him into looking presentable. He makes a mental note to thank him for it later. 

They walk through the party and Donghyuck can’t help but feel like an imposter, with the way all these expensive, important people turn their heads to inspect him, then turn back and don’t bother to spare him a second glance. It’s awkward, in the same way walking through a room full of human-sized hawks with beady eyes would be awkward. Terrifyingly so, but still making you want to stare with intrigue. The two of them cordially make conversation with those that are willing to initiate it, and small talk with those who aren’t. 

Renjun Huang is the first of the former. He dons a pale peach dress shirt underneath a matching vest and waistcoat suit, forest green with subtle gold patterns. Shorts worn on an occasion like this would otherwise look out of place, but he manages to make it work, and very well, at that. When he approaches them, a flute of champagne in one hand, Donghyuck understands what Mark meant when he said his cousin was the ‘Bachelor-type’. Renjun has soft brown hair that’s a little longer at the back, (not that this changes anything, Donghyuck just finds it neat), a facial structure that would rival a Greek God’s, and a Prince Charming smile that reaches his eyes and stays there. It’s no wonder he’s got the heartthrob reputation he has.

“Hello, cousin,” he says to Mark in a warm voice that sounds like honey, “long time no see.” “Long time no see indeed,” Mark replies, giving his free hand a squeeze. “And hello, Donghyuck. I’ve heard lots about you,” he turns to Donghyuck and says. “I’m Renjun.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Renjun. You’ve… heard about me? From who?” 

“Oh, just the word on the street,” he says, mysteriously. “Singapore is a small country, and the world is smaller. You’ll find out soon enough that everyone knows everyone. It was lovely to meet you, darling.”

And with the bat of an eyelash, he turns on his heel and slinks back into the crowd, another somebody in this party full of shining figures. The live band springs once again into song, a sixties’ jazz rendition of a tune Donghyuck recognises to be from a Chinese classic. He and Mark look at each other and start laughing. “Well, he’s something,” Donghyuck begins. 

“Do you know what I mean, now?” 

“I do.”

They pick up some drinks for themselves, off a tray held by a maid that’s, well, dressed very much like a maid. Black tunic and a white pinafore on top of that, her hair is even pulled back with a matching doily headband. It’s only now that it’s starting to really settle in, how much money Mark’s family actually has. It doesn’t change how Donghyuck sees him of course, but the fact that he’s kept it hidden from him and then given no warning before bringing him here is a bit of a blow. 

It’s… a surprise, to say the least. 

Then Donghyuck catches something familiar in his peripheral vision. Perched on the arm of a velvet sofa next to the balcony is Sicheng, Ten’s sullen older brother whom he’d just met earlier today. Except now he’s not so sullen. “Hey, what are you looking at?” Mark asks, taking a sip from his glass and tilting his head to the side to look past the guests. 

“Oh. So that’s Jaehyun’s new boyfriend… do you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s Ten’s brother.”

No wonder Sicheng reacted so strongly at lunch. Donghyuck watches Sicheng now, laughing merrily at something Jaehyun’s said with a hand leaning on his shoulder. He looks so much happier, and Donghyuck is glad. 

“Come, Donghyuck,” Mark says, taking his hand. “Let’s go meet my mum.” 

They walk through the party once more, Mark leading Donghyuck to the kitchen. “Are you having a good time, Duck?” Mark says as they make their way down the corridor. Donghyuck sighs. “Yes, Mark, I am. Don’t worry about me I’m just… nervous.” He gives his hand a squeeze. “I love you,” Mark whispers, and plants a kiss on his temple.

As soon as the white doors are pushed open, Donghyuck is met with a mish-mashed plethora of nameless fragrances, delicious smells that waft around the air in the industrial-sized kitchen and float into his nose. A team of immaculately uniformed cooks slave away at stoves and workbenches, creating pots and pans and plates and trays of broths, dry foods and desserts alike. And at the head of it all: Irene Bae i.e. Mark’s mum. 

  
  


The first time Donghyuck saw a photo of Irene Bae, he didn’t believe Mark when he said she was his mother. “Is this the ex-girlfriend you mentioned that one time?” he had asked, when scrolling through his phone’s camera roll. “What the hell Donghyuck? Dude, that’s my mum.” 

“No way! She looks younger than you do,”

“She gets that a lot.” 

“Ma, this is Donghyuck,” Mark says, as the doors fall shut behind them. 

She doesn’t divert her gaze from the pot of soup she’s inspecting. “More salt,” she says to a cook in stern Cantonese, “and this should be done in the next five minutes.” Donghyuck wonders if she hadn’t heard Mark, and that’s the reason for her lack of reaction, but he sees Mark waiting calmly- obediently for her response and follows suit. Patience is a virtue, and now Donghyuck realises the degree to which Mark was held to his virtues growing up. 

He forms an immediate sense of respect for her. So Irene is  _ that _ kind of mother. 

She walks regally towards them, eyes pinned almost tunnel vision-like to her son. “Mark,” she says, in acknowledgement. Her voice is clear and sharp. Then she turns to Donghyuck, and he feels the hair stand up on the back of his neck. She’s almost a head shorter than he is, but under her gaze she feels like a scared schoolboy again. “Donghyuck.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Auntie,” Donghyuck says, as normally as possible, (though it sounds a little more gushy than he would have liked).

Irene looks Donghyuck up and down with an unreadable expression on her face. “You too,” she says, curtly. Reluctantly? 

The next five minutes go by in a daze. Mark’s mother asks Donghyuck about his family- just his mum and him, and what he does for a living- he’s an economics professor at NYU. She says his mother must be very proud of him for pursuing such a career- he says she’s happy he’s doing something he loves. 

She  _ hates _ him, he just knows it. 

He whispers so to Mark on their way back into the party, and Mark puffs air into his cheeks as he exhales. “She… she takes some time to warm up to people. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Oh I’m worrying.”

He’s not lying. The whole experience happened within the span of ten minutes, but Donghyuck feels like he’s about to pass out from light-headedness. As they float back to the living room, Donghyuck spots Sicheng again, but this time he sees him, too. Donghyuck tells Mark he’s going to talk to him, and they split up, Mark striking up a conversation with another family friend called Chenle. He makes his way over to Sicheng, and extends a hand for him to shake. “Hey,” he says, smiling. “We met, earlier today,” 

Sicheng looks slightly embarrassed at this. “Sorry about the whole...” he gestures vaguely with his hands. “Oh no, I totally understand. It must have been more uncomfortable for you.” Donghyuck rushes in, an empathetic look on his face. 

“Ah, let’s… not talk about that anymore, shall we?” Sicheng grimaces. When passing through the party Donghyuck overheard a guest gossiping about Sicheng, saying he had ‘phoenix eyes’. Donghyuck doesn’t know what that means, but the man’s eyes sure are pretty. They are sharp and curved, framed with a hood of delicate lashes, and sparkle like stars. “Oh- and, Donghyuck,” he leans a little closer. “Was that my brother I saw here? How did that happen?” 

Donghyuck smiles at this, shoulder shrugging with his laugh. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sicheng. It… just did.” 

Sicheng laughs with him, and Donghyuck feels a sense of deep, true relief. He’s on his side, now. 

  
  


Eventually their conversation comes to a lull and Donghyuck ends up sifting his way through the room again until he finds someone else to make a good first impression on. Until he hears the sound of... a gong? 

Goodness, rich people really are another breed. 

The rest of the guests seem to know what it’s for, though. You know, being also rich and all. They turn to each other excitedly and file out of the double doors into the backyard. Donghyuck follows them. 

A chamber in the garden is aglow, if you can call it that a chamber. Donghyuck had a utility shed in his backyard growing up, in suburban New York after he and his mother had moved out of their one bedroom apartment in the city. If bastardised, he reckons you could call this a garden shed too. Only its walls are lined with brocade-like wallpaper and it has a roof of traditional Chinese tiling. The roof of Donghyuck’s garden shed was corrugated iron, although it was more holes than metal, from what he remembers. This is really quite the room. 

As he moves closer, he gets a clearer glimpse of the room’s luxurious exterior. Dark wood framing on the door and ceiling curls and twists, a blue and red tiling pattern covers the floor, and large wooden lanterns hang from the ceiling. It’s all very traditionally decorated, which Donghyuck appreciates. Despite the bright lights of urban sprawl that seem to dominate the face value of this city, there are still pockets of perfectly preserved history. Ancient culture that remains untouched throughout generations. 

“The tan flowers are blooming!” A woman exclaims, gesturing widely as she stands on the top of the platform. “Come gather and admire their beauty.”

Gasps of delight are heard, and scattered applause throughout. The guests shuffle closer row by row to see the flowers, and by the time it’s Donghyuck’s turn to look, he’s spotted Mark, too, sitting on something he can only describe as a throne next to an elderly woman with salt and pepper hair. 

The tanhuas are stunningly beautiful. Their elegant white petals cluster together in an impossibly perfect pattern, layer upon layer like fingers of the purest moonlight, and their glossy leaves cascade from the big antique pot like water escaping a fountain. “Pretty, aren’t they?” the woman says, smiling. “Truly the Queen of the Night.”

If these flowers are the queen, then Mark must be the emperor. After viewing the flowers, he turns his gaze towards the man in white, sitting and chatting to his grandmother. Tonight the tanhua must not be the only things at this party that are in full bloom. 

He walks over to them, bowing his head and smiling at the elderly woman. “Ahma, this is my friend Donghyuck.” Mark says, gesturing towards him and speaking in Chinese. 

Donghyuck is glad he grew up speaking Mandarin at home. “It is an honour to meet you, Ahma,” he tells her. “Thank you for letting me visit your home.” 

Her smile is full of warmth and sincerity, a stark contrast to Irene’s expression upon meeting Donghyuck for the first time. He has hope.

“It is lovely to meet you too, Donghyuck,” she says, taking his tanned hands in her weathered ones, and rubbing them softly. Usually Donghyuck would be made uncomfortable by such a gesture from a stranger, but this time it feels like an honour. 

  
  


Mark leaves the party with stars in his eyes, the same ones as last night’s. Donghyuck lies in the back seat of the taxi with his head on his lap, once they’ve driven far enough away from the house. He counts them as they dance around the dark pools, then connects them like a dot-to-dot puzzle. 

“Care to explain why you kept all this from me, Muck?” He says, quietly, when Mark’s fingers are threaded in his hair. “Not that I’m mad at you,” he adds quickly, before Mark opens his mouth to speak. "I'm not mad."

“I’ve... had people date me just for my money before, Duck, as… disgusting and privileged it is to say that out loud. I’ve gotten in a lot of shit because of it. And my family, all that, it’s a lot. I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Donghyuck doesn’t have the words to reply, just nods at him to go on. 

“But I love who I am with you. And maybe I got carried away, thought that our relationship would somehow be better? If I hid my family’s… situation. But I’d like to think that maybe you would love me the same.”

Donghyuck sits up, presses a kiss into Mark’s cheekbone. “You know I do,” he murmurs, close to his face. 

Mark turns his face and kisses Donghyuck’s nose. “I’m glad you do.”


	4. we are not the same

They eat at a nearby food court the next morning, Mark telling Donghyuck that a hotel breakfast would be a waste of stomach space. (“We have white people food in New York, Duck. What we  _ don’t _ have is Kopitiam prawn noodles.”) And who would Donghyuck be to deny a boy his prawn noodles?

The food court is relatively empty for a Monday morning, the office workers and students having left long ago for classrooms and board rooms and other schedules they’re tied to. There’s mostly senior citizens here, the ones that decide not to eat at their local coffee shops, and the odd tourist or uni student. They find a table near the stall without much fuss at all. 

The coffee is sweet and the stir fried prawn noodles are salty and sour all at once, and over their meal Donghyuck and Mark discuss the past few days’ events. The next few days’ events, an ever-present reminder of why they’re here, are brought up too, and Donghyuck feels a hint of nervousness come to a boil in his stomach. Mark teases him affectionately when Donghyuck brings it up. “Are you sure it’s not just the sambal chilli that’s a bit too much for you?” He giggles, taking one of his cheeks between his fingers and pinching it softly. They bicker back and forth playfully, eliciting a coo from the onlooking chicken rice aunty on her break. 

Mark turns his head and winks at her upon hearing it. “You know her?” Donghyuck asks, curious. 

“Nope.” Mark replies, turning back to the table. “Hey, about the nervousness. It’s perfectly okay to feel that way, I think. I’m starting to feel a bit nervous, too, now that I think about it. But you can always tell me if there’s anything I can do to help, okay?”

Mark Lee, ever the noble. What did this world do to deserve him?

Donghyuck’s phone buzzes. Then it does it again. And again. He takes it out of his pocket to check the notifications, and sees two messages from Ten, with a link. It’s a website Donghyuck has never seen before, but when Mark sees its name in the message preview his expression goes cold at once. His eyes widen and shoulders become tight, body frame shrinking from the sudden tension. 

  
  
  


**10:20 from Ten Lee**

have u seen this???????

dude they’re writing about u

http:// [ www.singapores-secrets.com.sg/unwelcome-addition-to-the-lee-empire/ ](http://www.singapores-secrets.com.sg/unwelcome-addition-to-the-lee-empire/)

_ read 10:21 _

  
  
  
  
  


**circa five years prior/**

  
  


Mark stares at his phone, the white light undoubtedly reflecting off of the glass of his spectacles. It’s two fucking o’clock in the morning, for heaven’s sake. He tells himself there’s no way people are still awake and engaging in such useless content. He’s proven otherwise. 

Countless messages from family, friends, people he’s never spoken to in his life. Countless links from various media outlets and gossip websites. These names will come back to haunt him someday, the headlines inevitably scorching themselves into his mind whether he likes it or not. 

He knows he really shouldn’t, for the sake of him and for the sake of not giving the sites views, but he looks through some of the articles. Out of indignant curiosity, or something like along those lines. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just see… 

_ ‘Family or Foreign Lands? Mark Lee, the Island’s Most Affluent Heir, Chooses the Latter’.  _ Oh. Now  _ that _ hurts. It hits a nerve, that headline does. It’s sent to him by someone he’s never seen before on Facebook. ‘hey, saw this article about you,’ its caption reads. He’s tempted to lash out at them. One click away from sending this stranger a long reply about why he’s got no business reading such rubbish, and they’ve got no business trying to make him do so. Some curse words here and there and some other less-than-kind language. But he stops himself, back-spaces. He bets his family’s stupid fortune that the message would end up on every gossip site after he clicks send, and the whole situation would blow completely out of proportion. 

It’s the idea that he’d choose personal success over his own kin that makes his chest ache and the backs of his eyes sting. That more money is somehow a better option. First of all, he’s pursuing a job in the arts. Working at NYU as a history professor, as opposed to taking over as CEO of the family business. Is anything adding up? Is anyone connecting the dots here? He’ll let them do that math, if it’s within their ability. This piece of information, the article has conveniently chosen to  _ not _ include. Not that Mark expects any sort of authenticity from such stupid websites. 

Second, filial piety is something that runs thicker than blood in the veins of the Lee family. Thicker than love, thicker than anything wealth can buy. Whether it’s seens as an obligation or choice- Mark will admit, he’s been on both sides, it’s something that’s existed, unspoken, through generations. To question that would be the deepest blow one could make. 

He sighs and blinks back tears as he turns his phone off and zips it back into his backpack. Thank God he’s got a flight to catch. 

  
  
  
  
  


**current/**

“And you never cared to tell me before, in all these years we’ve been together?” Donghyuck whispers, brow furrowed in frustration. “Not telling me that you’re rich... I barely care about that, Mark, but this?”

They’re still in the food court, speaking hushed, as if they’re being watched. Keeping the current fiasco in mind it seems more than possible, and neither of them want to take any chances in a big public space like this one. 

“Look, Donghyuck, I-,”

“What else are you hiding from me? What else don’t I know? You want me to tell you about my worries and I’ll tell you now. I’m terrified, Mark. You take me here without any sort of warning, and on the second… The  _ second  _ bloody day I find out I’m in some sort of scandal I didn’t even know I was getting myself caught up in. Mark Lee, do I even know who you are?” 

“Duck.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Donghyuck.” 

He stares at the empty plates in front of him. A signal for him to explain himself, Mark guesses. 

“Those memories, I wanted to erase them from my head completely. Seeing myself so villainized by so many strangers that only saw me as my name? that was scary. It was all I could think about for months after moving to New York, I was so traumatised. Everywhere I went, I felt like I was being followed. Everything I said, I thought people would somehow manipulate to make me sound like a bad son. That’s why I didn’t tell you, because I couldn’t bear to relive that feeling.”

Donghyuck racks his brain, and memories of Mark taking quick looks over his shoulder, making a point to talk quietly in public suddenly make sense. He feels terrible for not realising earlier. 

“Mark, I’m so sorry…”

“No, don’t be. None of this is your fault, and it was irresponsible of me to not let you know about it before.”

There’s a quiet couple of moments that follows. A sickening gap that feels like the shock of an injury, scars and bruises numbed from the impact but stinging all the same. 

“I am sorry, Mark,” Donghyuck says, breaking the silence. “For only thinking of myself in this situation. I can’t even imagine going through what you have, and I didn’t even ask how you felt.”

Mark forces a smile, rubs circles into Donghyuck’s palms. “I’m tired, Duck. I’m sick of people always seeing things at face value. I’m tired of caring about what they say when they couldn’t care less about how I am.” 

“Care about me, then.” 

He smiles for real, this time. “That’s what I’ve been doing, for the past few years in New York. You made it so much less painful. Thankyou.”

Donghyuck flushes in the neck. “Thank you for letting me.” He holds up Mark’s hands to his face, and kisses them gently. 

The chicken rice auntie has returned to her stall, but seems to have been watching them the entire time, because when her eyes meet Mark’s she’s the one that winks. It’s a gesture that could be easily seen as strange or invasive, but for now there are greater problems at hand- and they’ve solved them. Or… not just yet. 

  
  
  
  
  


**10:22 from Ten Lee**

defamation act babey. we got a case to take!

_ Read 10:47 _

  
  
  
  


“Oh so  _ Ten _ was your lawyer friend?” Mark bursts out laughing. 

“What about that is so hard to believe?” Donghyuck retorts, defensively. 

“It’s not. I just… didn’t connect the dots.”

“I see…” Donghyuck squints. “Well, are we going to sue?” 

“Do you think we need the money?”

“Valid.” Goodness, when did Mark get this type of confidence?

“That’s not the reason,” Mark clarifies, as if reading his mind. “We just don’t like to get ourselves involved with matters like these.”

Donghyuck nods in understanding. 

“... Well, you did say that you were tired. Why don't we go back to the hotel and rest for the day?” Donghyuck suggests, crossing his fingers under the table. 

Mark lets out a comic gasp of disbelief. “My own boyfriend? Wanting to skip out on a family activity? Now that’s a scandal.” 

They laugh, and it becomes evident the light has finally returned to Mark’s eyes. Donghyuck is glad. 

“It’s dumpling wrapping, Duck. You don’t want to miss it.” 

“Hmm…” Donghyuck pretends to be deep in thought. “But we get to eat them?” 

“We get to eat them. You can eat as many as you like.” 

He grins. (Success!) “Deal.” 

  
  
  
  
  


Dumpling wrapping commences back at the Lee residence that afternoon, with a couple of relatives that Donghyuck has already been introduced to from last night’s festivities, and a couple that he recognises, but hasn’t talked to before. Renjun and Jaehyun are sitting at the table with the aunties, already rolling out the dough for dumpling skin, and so are two people that look familiar for a reason Donghyuck can’t quite put his finger on. “Chenle Zhong,” greets the guy that looks barely halfway through college says, extending a flour-covered hand for Donghyuck to shake, and then taking it back at once when he realises. The girl next to him looks a little older, has long brown hair and a… (Donghyuck will later tell this to Mark in the privacy of their hotel room) resting bitch face. “Hyunjin Kim,” she says, with a smile. “A pleasure to meet you both.” Donghyuck replies to them in English, then greets the aunties in Chinese. “Have you eaten today?” the one with permed black curls and pink lipstick asks, and Donghyuck feels a sense of welcome wash over him. “Yes, Ahyi, we had breakfast at the food court this morning.” 

It’s a much more informal gathering compared to the party that was held in the same place just twelve hours before, and Donghyuck finds this far more comfortable than the sheer opulence of last night’s soiree. No champagne, no ball gowns, just a family sitting around an (admittedly still quite fancy) table and making food together. Donghyuck’s family back home in New York is just him and his single mother, and while it was just the two of them who would make dumplings together, it never felt lesser than. Not to say that he hasn’t ever wondered what it would be like to take part in such traditions with a conventionally  _ whole _ group of family, but he’s going to find out now. 

“When we were younger,” Hyunjin begins, a mischievous smile on her face, “I told Mark that raw dumplings would make him grow taller.” 

In the seat next to Donghyuck, a flush starts to make its way up Mark’s neck. He chuckles at the dumpling he’s wrapping currently, and awaits his inevitable demise (humiliation).

She continues, Donghyuck looking over at his boyfriend in sheer disbelief and amusement. “I didn’t tell him to eat them, of course, I’m not that mean. But he stayed home from school for the next three days because of food poisoning and the reason why? Why, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.” 

The table explodes into laughter, despite most of them having heard this story multiple times before. “It gets funnier every time,” Chenle chirps between giggles. 

“Aunty Irene still doesn’t know, though, does she?” Renjun asks, in a slightly hushed voice. This is her house, after all. 

  
  


“Doesn’t know what?” A familiar voice sends chills to Donghyuck’s spine. 

Speak of the devil. (Don’t do it!)

Renjun looks up and gives Irene one of his million dollar smiles (teeth and all). “Oh hi, Aunty Irene! Hello Ahma!” 

All the children- if they can still be called that, get out of their seats and rush to greet Mark’s mother and grandma. Their own mothers stand up too, and bow on the spot. “Hello Ahma, are you well?” Donghyuck says, in a gentle voice. 

She nods slowly, a laugh in her eyes. “I am very well, Donghyuck. It is lovely to see you again.” 

Irene is still standing next to her, and Donghyuck is trying everything in his power not to make eye contact with her after his polite ‘good afternoon, Aunty Irene’. Still, he feels her eyes burn into the side of his face like icicles as he makes small talk with Mark’s grandmother. 

“Let me inspect your face, Donghyuck-ah,” she says, taking his cheeks with her aged hands. He smiles nervously as she scrutinises it from side to side. 

“Your nose, my dear, it is very lucky.” 

Well, that’s a first. 

  
  


Once they help Ahma to her seat at the table, the group breaks back off into two smaller conversations. 

“So, are you seeing anyone now, Hyunjin?” Jaehyun asks, as they’re sealing off the last tray of dumplings. “Not that you have to share! If you want to uh… keep that private, that’s totally okay I respect that.” He adds, rushed, and from Donghyuck’s seat across the table from him, he can see a mild flush creeping up the side of his neck. If Donghyuck didn’t know better, he’d swear Jaehyun looks  _ flustered _ . 

Mark had told Donghyuck, in their gossip session the night before, that Jaehyun was trying his best to make amends with Hyunjin after That incident. From what Donghyuck sees now, though, Hyunjin isn’t the one looking too bothered.

“Not really,” Hyunjin replies, idly, checking if any of the aunties are looking, then taking her phone out of her pocket to check if Someone’s texted her back. Someone has, and she chuckles at the message, before sliding it back into her white summer dress. 

“Oh, that’s…” 

“Wait, ‘Jinnie. Who was that who texted you? You can’t just pull that act and expect us not to ask questions. Also, why didn’t you text them back?” 

“Oh, Markie. Ever the question-asker,” Hyunjin smirks. One would almost say that she has the look of a cat, one that has a secret you want in on. And they would be right. She shakes her hair over her shoulder, with as little energy as she knows she can. A subtle gesture, but one that makes them all want to know more. “Why don't you ask dear Renjun here about his dating life? I’m sure it’s much more exciting than mine.”

“You’re right. Why don’t you ask me if I’m seeing anyone, Jae?”

“Because he doesn't need to ask, Ah-Jun. We already know you’re seeing someone because you’re always seeing someone.” Chenle cuts in 

Their side of the table dissolves into giggles. It’s a diversion Hyunjin’s created- a successful one too, at that, but none of them seem to mind (or notice, at all). 

They must have been extra loud, because a “What was that, Ah-Jun? Something about you seeing someone?” comes from the aunties. 

“Ah, nothing, Aunty Taeyeon! I have no idea what Lele is talking about.” Renjun pipes back, eyes wide and innocence dripping from his every bat of an eyelash. Donghyuck is once again reminded of why no one can seem to say no to this man. 

“So you were kissing nothing in the back seat of your car the other day?” She widens her eyes and remarks, then grins evilly. 

Their side of the table’s reaction is just as expected, with knee-slapping laughter and cries of amusement and disbelief from even Ahma. 

“We only have God to thank that my mother’s in China and not here to witness this right now.” Renjun mutters quietly, after the laughter fizzles down and the aunties return to their own conversation. 

“So, who was it, Renjun? Who are you kissing in the back of your car?” Donghyuck musters up the bravery to ask.

Renjun smiles at his hands. “A boy.” It’s sickeningly saccharine. 

“Oh, gross,” Hyunjin retorts, dusting the flour off of her hands. “He’s in love again.” 

Donghyuck looks over at Mark and grins, and he loves the way this is. Just a circle of loved ones. Nothing more, nothing less. For the first time on this trip since dinner with Jeno and Jaemin, he feels comfortable. 

  
  


Irene doesn’t. On his way out to find the bathroom, Donghyuck stands, lost, at the fork in the stairs. Was it to the left, Mark said? Or the right? 

“Lost?” sounds a voice behind him.  _ Her _ . 

“Oh, yes,” he says, in earnest. “This house is so big.” 

Irene smiles in return, alighting the stairs one step at a time to reach the landing Donghyuck stands on. There’s not much space there, but it’s enough to fit the two of them, a small table holding an ornamental vase, and still leave some room for floating around. 

That’s what they’re doing right now, Donghyuck acknowledges in his mind as Mark’s mother visibly,  _ tangibly _ , scrutinises him in silence. It’s taking all he’s got to refrain from quivering in discomfort or running for his life. The stuffed skin in the corner isn’t the only tiger in the room, no. This one is alive, breathing, and twice as scary. 

“Do you enjoy wrapping dumplings, Donghyuck?” She finally asks, after what seems like forever. 

“I do, Aunty Irene. I do it all the time with my mother back in America.” 

She chuckles once, without any sincerity at all, before speaking. “Mark’s ahma had me make dumplings with her, too.”

He nods. 

“When I married Mark’s father, she had me make one thousand dumplings at the end of every month to prove my worth to the family. She told me that I would never be enough.”

Donghyuck doesn’t know how to react to this. His smile fades and he nods again.

“Of course, I was a filial daughter. I did what told me to. Every month she would try one of the dumplings I made, and then give the rest to the servants. I still make a thousand dumplings for her at the end of every month.”   
  


“Oh, Aunty…”

“She did not have to tell me. I knew I would never be good enough for this family. But do you know what else I know, Donghyuck?”

She steps closer to him, in a circle of predator and prey. He backs down, back onto the stairs. 

“I know you will never be enough, too .” 

Donghyuck stares back with curiosity on his face, more than anything. When a tear rolls down his cheek, he doesn’t care to wipe it away, just lets it fall onto the fabric of his collar. 

  
  
  
  
  


“No way she said that to you. To your face? Like. With her mouth?” Ten rants, pacing around his room while Donghyuck and Sicheng sit on his bed. 

Sicheng turns to look at Donghyuck. “Are you okay?” he says, softly. Equally softly, he says, “Do you want me to hire a hitman?”

Not bothering to question why or how his brother has such connections, Ten stamps over to the bed where they’re both sitting, and stands in front of Donghyuck. 

He puts his hands on his hips. “Was it like a, ‘You will  _ never _ be enough’? Or a ‘ _ You _ will never be enough,’?

“Ah-Ten ge you just said the same thing twice.”

“No, no, I get it. It was the former. It was scary,” Donghyuck says, then slumps his shoulders. “I felt like I wanted to die. And I had to pee as well.” 

“Despicable,” Ten seeths under his breath, making his way back to his orbit around the Persian rug. 

“No, Hyuck, I think she’s just trying to scare you off,” Sicheng suggests, speaking slowly as if trying to put together the words just as they spill from his mouth. 

“You think?”

“I do. She’s not actually going to make you wrap a twelve thousand dumplings every year to make you prove your worth-,”

“She better not!” Ten cuts in, an alarmed look on his face/

“Don’t interrupt me, Ge! She’s just trying to intimidate you. Like… like an animal that runs straight at you thinking you’ll run away.”

“Like a chicken!” Donghyuck exclaims. “Like the game, chicken!” 

The other two blink. 

“It’s… it’s what you just said.” 

“Yeah!”

  
  
  
  


Sicheng leaves to see Jaehyun, later that evening, leaving Ten to fuss over Donghyuck’s situation (and wedding outfit) alone. They had planned beforehand to get fitted and measured and pick everything out in Singapore (“I just can’t trust you to do this by yourself Hyuck I hope you understand,”).

What he doesn’t expect is to be working with Mark’s old friend. Johnny, the one from university that he’d heard so many stories about. 

“It’s a small world,” he says, a deep voice echoing all the other people he’s met in this city. Of course they would say so, Donghyuck would think, if he didn’t know better. This entire country is a hundred and seventy times smaller than New York and thousands of miles smaller than the United States. If he did know better, though, he’d know that the world of these crazy rich Asians is far from the same world he grew up knowing, in ways that are so much more than land size. He’s starting to realise this. Has never stopped realising ever since he got off that plane and thrown into this colourful, opulent bubble of Singapore’s one percent. 

As it turns out, Johnny Seo moved to Singapore to stay with his grandparents after finishing his fashion degree and has worked together with Ten many times in the past. (“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” “You never asked!”)

When they meet him in his Chinatown studio, he’s wearing a stylish embroidered shirt (which Donghyuck later learns is a traditional Peranakan dress shirt), and linen shorts. It’s an usually curated studio, with an almost disorientating range of fashion styles and garment pieces, but Johnny seems to know what he’s doing, so he doesn’t give it a second thought. 

Donghyuck lets him measure and note down his body proportions using what looks like a phone scanner, before he and Ten get to work picking out options from the countless choices of different fabrics and silhouettes and cuts. (Correct him if he’s wrong but- don’t all suits look the same?) This thought passes through Donghyuck’s mind, but he decides it’s safer for him not to speak it aloud. 

He wonders how Mark is doing, getting ready with the groom’s party. Is he used to all the fuss, having grown up in this kind of world? Donghyuck can’t even imagine what that would have been like. 

He’s interrupted from his train of thought by the opening of the shopfront’s glass door. “Oh, that must be Hyunjin coming to pick up her dress,” Johnny remarks, putting down his book of fabric swatches. “I’ll be back in five.”

“Hyunjin?” Donghyuck queries, turning around to once again lock eyes with the familiar figure at the door. 

“You two know each other?” 

“We were just wrapping dumplings together this morning,” he replies. “This world really is small indeed.”

  
  


Hyunjin has two dresses ordered, actually: One being a lacy, floral-print dress with a high neckline and draping bell sleeves, and the other a knee-length  _ qipao _ of jade-green satin. She tries both on at the studio, and they all admire how the fabric falls on her curves and makes her look… a little like a fairy, Donghyuck thinks. Hyunjin has an elegant, almost feline kind of beauty and the dresses all but diminish her good looks. 

“So what are you wearing tomorrow, Donghyuck?” Hyunjin ponders, once her outfits are safely bagged up and she’s transferred the money to Johnny’s account via Wechat pay. 

“This!” Ten exclaims, holding up Johnny’s laptop. 

And on its screen is a perfectly rendered sketchup of a beautifully tailored suit. Donghyuck gasps. It’s gorgeous. Who knew suits could be so… normal looking but exquisite at the same time? What’s more amazing to him, though, is that it’s modelled on a computer-generated graphic of… himself. It’s him. On the screen. Wearing the suit. 

“It looks great, Donghyuck! I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow,” Hyunjin says, before she leaves. 

“Johnny this is incredible, thank you so much,” Donghyuck gushes, unable to take his eyes off the drawing. 

“I’m glad you like it, Hyuck.”

  
  


Another reminder of where he is now. More than ankles-deep in this wildly foreign world of the crazy rich. Though ankles, Donghyuck thinks, are all you need to trip up real bad.


	5. blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 你开心就好  
> 'as long as you are happy'

The wedding commences at a cathedral somewhere in the middle of the city, the next day. It’s not a far drive from the hotel Donghyuck and Mark are staying at, but they make several stops at a few different places to collect their outfits and other ‘wedding things’. Mark arrives at the venue several hours earlier to get ready and meet with the rest of the groom’s party, so when Donghyuck shows up at 2pm, he does so alone.

And it’s quite an arrival, the one he has. He’d never once in his life imagined that he’d be making an entrance as exciting and cinematic as this one, but there’s a first for everything, isn’t there? And this trip has been full of firsts. 

As soon as he steps out of the taxi, he’s greeted by the constant flashing of cameras all around.  _ No way they’re shooting me _ , he thinks, frozen. But he soon realises they are. Well, they’re photographing everyone, technically, but everyone seems to include him today, and he smiles nervously as he makes his way into the church, in the direction the crowd of black suits and colourful gowns are headed. 

The sight he’s met with upon setting foot through the door, though, is far from any church he’s ever seen before. What used to be a plain floor and rows of modest wooden benches in the chapel have been transformed into a lush, green setting Donghyuck can only liken to an expensive-looking indoor rice paddy. 

Uniform rows of thin grass and reeds line the seats and aisle, obscuring the oak chairs almost completely and giving them the appearance of a tropical grassland. Banana leaves and native flowers are artfully arranged along the walls, and ferns hang expertly from the balcony. How they got up there in the first place is a mystery, but all Donghyuck can think of is how _ ridiculously _ pretty the whole hall looks. At the altar stands more live banana trees, and amongst them, black wire stands hanging glowing red lanterns. 

A guest dressed in a yellow shift dress looks him up and down with unimpressed eyes as she passes by him, and Donghyuck hears another unfamiliar voice whisper, “So that’s the guy Mark brought home?” and a “Ya lor, bet he’s just a gold digger,” in reply. It takes everything he has not to turn around to see who’s spoken, but he continues walking, combing through the crowd of people to find… well, he doesn’t really know what he’s trying to look for here. What do people even do at weddings? The rest of the guests are clustered in little groups and socialising, but Donghyuck is all alone. 

“Donghyuck,” a voice from behind him breaks his daze, and turns around to see a smiling Renjun, whose arm is locked with a friendly-looking, broad-shouldered man whose height exceeds Renjun’s by almost a head. “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend! So this is who Taeyeon caught Renjun with. 

“Lucas,” the man says, voice charmingly deep. “It’s so good to meet you.”

  
  


They shake hands and introduce themselves, and it’s then that it starts to get a little easier. Donghyuck manages to navigate his way through the social circles that form inside the venue, saying hello to one person at a time who knows someone else, who’s cousins with yet another person and, oh! Meet this auntie, she came up with the idea for the leaves. And this uncle, who sourced the silk for the lanterns. It’s a skill Donghyuck develops within this first hour. Pushed straight into the deep end with little prior ability, but he gets there. 

He meets Jiwoo and her wife Yves, the richest lesbians in this side of the world (“Stop calling us that, Hyunjin! You’ll make a bad first impression,”), Liu Yangyang, Mark’s second cousin who freelance models all over China, and an opera singer-turned family friend, Wendy. If Donghyuck didn’t already realise on that first night that Mark’s family were a social bunch, the even more extensive number of relatives and associates present today reminds him to. 

It’s a newfound confidence he has, a sense of energy he’s gotten from suddenly being able to interact with so many people and somehow  _ not _ make a complete and utter fool of himself, but Donghyuck feels comfortable. This is nowhere as scary as he thought it would be. 

Of course, that all goes out the stained-glass windows when he sees her again, floating formidably into the chapel in a swishy ball gown and cape like imposter syndrome in human form. Irene doesn’t want him there, and she says so with the sweeping look she gives him that lasts all of half a second. 

_ Just one more day after this _ , Donghyuck thinks,  _ and we can go back home _ . Get the wedding over and done with and it’ll all be fine again, but will things really return to how they were before? A voice in his head tells him once he leaves, he can go back to living normally without worries, but another remembers the way Mark’s eyes light up at the thought of coming home, and he thinks maybe he’s better off here after all. The thought of it makes him scared, but he can’t seem to erase it from his mind. Would Mark let go of his family to have things be the way they were in New York, with just the two of them? Donghyuck thinks that maybe this scares him a bit more. 

  
  


When she thinks nobody’s looking, Irene shoots Donghyuck another glimpse, a real one this time. Then she turns to look at Mark’s grandmother, then Donghyuck again. Mark watches from behind the curtain as she clasps her hands neatly in her lap and purses her lips into a tight, hard line. 

Maybe it always was meant to be like this. 

  
  
  


He feels a hand on his shoulder. Jeno’s. He hooks his chin over the crook of Mark’s neck and takes a peek through the gap, eyes rummaging through the rows of seated guests. “Hey,” Mark whispers, “how are you feeling?”

Jeno stands up straight and jumps around a little, wringing out his arms in his neat black suit. “Oh, Marky, you have no idea.” He turns his elbows in, stretching like a cat after a nap. “ _ I _ have no idea.” 

They share a laugh, and Mark feels much more at ease. Today is about Jeno and Jaemin, and that’s it. It’s not about Mark’s mother and how strange she’s been acting as of late, it’s not about all the flashy, important people here who couldn’t be less significant, and it’s not about the headlines and whatever untruths they wish to say about the people he loves. It's about his best friend, whom he loves. About Jeno Lee and his own love, Jaemin. How could he have ever been so selfish to think it was about anything else?

No words are exchanged, but Mark can almost feel the excitement radiating off his best friend. It’s in the way his eyes lift at the corners, the quickly increasing speed at which he’s rambling about absolutely nothing, the way he can’t seem to stand still. It’s him not being able to suppress a smile, putting his hands on Mark’s shoulders and saying, “Oh my god, oh my god Mark. Jaem’s gonna cry. I bet he’s gonna cry. Oh my god what if he cries… oh my god what if I cry seeing him cry… Mark my mum’s there she can’t see me cry…” and Mark only saying, “Well dude, I’ll cry with you then,” to which he replies, “No Mark, you can’t do that. I hate seeing you cry.” 

And at hearing that, Mark thinks he really might cry. 

  
  
  


They’d practised this dozens of times: the walking-out, the ceremony, the speeches. A traditional Chinese wedding involves a tea pouring ceremony with just the family, and a Christian wedding takes place in a church, with a hired preacher. Jeno’s family is Chinese and Jaemin’s family is Christian, and hence they have both: the Western ceremony here at the chapel, and the Chinese one afterwards. Since the Christian ceremony is traditionally heternormative though, and they are not, they’d planned for Jaemin and Jeno to walk from either side of the stage and meet in the middle. The aisle? Well, that’s where they walk out together, of course. 

It’s all rather unorthodox, this process. But it’s tailored to suit everything, and makes everyone happy. That’s what weddings are about, aren’t they? Making sure your relatives are happy too, and getting the government involved in your relationship. It’s not like you don’t know you love your fiance without one. 

Mark wonders how Jeno is so good at this: all wholesome and good and ‘what matters is that you’re happy’. They’d both grown up in this kind of world, full of images and secrets and people with too much money for theirs or anyone else’s good. All he can think of when he’s smiling back at him is gosh,  _ what a relief we turned out okay _ . Maybe that is all that matters. 

So when Jeno steps out and bursts into tears at the sight of Jaemin, Mark does too. 

It’s instantaneous, the reaction is. Mark walks off to the side of the stage and stands in a line with Renjun and Chenle, the rest of the groom’s party, and he can see the way they can’t walk fast enough to the altar and to each other. Jeno’s beam never leaves from his face, even when tears are spilling out of his eyes in front of everyone he knows. Mark’s not one to break his promise, and he feels his own cheeks getting wet at the sight of his best friend crying. 

He only half hears their vows. Can’t stop thinking that maybe he gets it now, why weddings are the way they are. 

Being vulnerable in front of everyone you love. Showing them you feel, even if you were brought up feeling uncomfortable doing so. Now, Mark thinks he understands. 

He knows Jeno understands, too, because he never used to cry first, and definitely not in front of other people. Is this what it means to grow up: finally being able to show people your heart? 

Jaemin, with his million dollar smile and the equally expensive ring now on his finger. He doesn’t cry as much as Jeno does. Just wipes away his tears and mouths a little “I love you”. 

Any fool could say they’ve fallen in love, and call it a day, and it’s even easier to know love when it’s on other people. 

These two- they’re doused in love. It’s not the excessively loud or excessively quiet type, just a constant, reassuring presence that’s enough to be intimate. It’s all they need. Each other. 

  
  
  


Somewhere from across the room, a head turns, and he feels it. 

Donghyuck. 

Their gazes meet, and Mark can see his boyfriend is teary-eyed too. A watery smile, a touch of a hand. Not Donghyuck’s, Renjun’s. Through light tears he looks to Mark, then Donghyuck, then smiles knowingly at the ground. 

Mark squeezes his hand back and looks over to Renjun, who nods. They share a smile and Mark knows at least he has Renjun’s blessings. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Next comes the tea ceremony, held at Jeno’s house. Donghyuck has only seen this ceremony practised once before in person, at a close family friend’s wedding. Of course, it was far too long ago for him to remember how it works, and he’s learning as he watches them do it.

First, Mark’s Ahma sits down in one of the two chairs set out side by side in the middle of the room, and Jeno and Jaemin kneel down in front of her. She gives them her blessings and wishes them good luck (and lots of children) in their shared future and they hand her a small cup of tea to drink from. Then are the next oldest relatives from either side of their families, until it’s time for Irene to sit down in the chairs. 

“Why didn’t your husband come, Irene?” Mark’s grandmother asks, as she’s walking towards the centre of the room. “He is overseas for business, Ma. He’s very sorry he can’t make it.” Irene replies, politely, though she seems like the more apologetic one. 

“You should have persuaded him to come back, this is such an important event.” She persists, disapprovingly.

“Ma, let’s not blame Irene for this, shall we? This is about Jeno and Jaemin’s wed-,” Hyunjin’s mother reasons gently as she pats the grandmother’s shoulder. 

“This is about family,” she snaps, in return, before getting to her feet and storming out the door. 

Jeno’s composure falters for a second, and Donghyuck sees the flash of upset in his eyes before he exhales deeply and smiles again, turning to check if Jaemin’s holding it together. 

Even an outsider could see how secure they feel in each other’s presence. The little bubble of assurance that keeps them tightly bound and comfortable even in times of crisis, it never once breaks. Nor does the calmness on their faces and it’s slightly alarming to Donghyuck. How used to this drama are they, that they can remain stone-faced even in such a trial? 

  
  


“Donghyuck,” Irene says, after what seems like forever, “sit.”

He feels all eyes move to him, and doesn’t quite know what to do. 

“Sit,” she repeats, gesturing to the seat next to hers. “And we shall resume.”

  
  


She closes her eyes for a few seconds, breathes, then smiles warmly and begins her blessings. Donghyuck follows her lead and says a few of his own, repeating some wishes Irene’s said in both Mandarin and Cantonese, although his Cantonese is broken and his Mandarin is mediocre at best. Uncharacteristically, Irene gives him an encouraging nod as he stumbles through the phrases and maybe gets half of the tones wrong, and Jeno winks as he hands him the cup of tea. 

It all feels like a fever dream. 

He chokes on his tea and Mark giggles. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Donghyuck is in the bathroom of the next reception later that afternoon, when he hears a voice from the other side of the wall. Mark’s grandma’s. 

“You never learn!”

“ _Ma_ -,” Irene’s. Pleading.

“What did I say about that boy? I want him gone. I want him out of my family’s business. What did I tell you to do? I tell you to get rid of him. But you fail me, once again. You are a failure to this family name. All you do is disappoint me.” 

She’s speaking in rapid-fire Mandarin, but Donghyuck can understand every word. He feels the sudden urge to throw up, before Renjun walks in the door. 

He sees his disposition and becomes worried immediately. “Hey,” he asks, voice gentle, “what’s wrong?” 

Donghyuck says nothing, just gestures towards the empty wall next to them and the one-sided arguing that persists through the thin plaster barrier. Renjun stops to listen, eyes widening as he hears the yelling on the other side. “Oh my god, Donghyuck,” he whispers, looking horrified. 

The sounds have stopped, following a loud bang of a door shutting. 

Then a sickening quiet that spans a nameless amount of time. Maybe it’s seconds, or maybe it’s days. Donghyuck feels nothing, just stares at his reflection in the glass. Just a boy. Just not the right boy. Just someone who fell into the worst kind of rabbit hole.

“You okay to go back out? Or do you need a little longer?” Renjun asks, and it’s oddly comforting that he would consider that Donghyuck maybe can’t fake it as easily as the rest of them. Is it defiance that he feels coming to a boil inside of him? Does he feel pathetic, being pitied by Renjun? More than that, he feels for Irene. A tiger is nothing but a toy when put in a cage to perform tricks. And oh, how he thought Ahma was the good guy all along.  _ This is fucked up beyond belief _ , he thinks, leaning his palms into the cold marble counter. “I… I need a minute.” 

It’s good that Renjun understands, or at least pretends to. 

Then he talks. 

“It sounds so obnoxious to complain about,” he sighs, staring at the ceiling. “But oh, how I hate it.” 

Donghyuck nods, soullessly. 

“You know I’ll bet you all the stupid trust fund money this family has that Irene walked out of there with perfect mascara, even after that. And you heard her cry. But no one will believe you, because she’s untouchable. We are all. We’re just these stupid perfect dolls with too little to do and perfect lovers that don’t know us and all this stuff and- oh. Oh I hate it.” 

“But I have to do it, too. Even if I don’t, I could pay someone to make it look like I do. I have to. There’s just no way out of this.” 

“Would you, though?” Donghyuck asks, quietly. “Would you leave it all behind if you could?” 

“Family, Donghyuck.” His voice is almost a whisper as he turns around to face Donghyuck. “I couldn’t bring myself to leave them if I tried.” 

  
  


And Donghyuck doesn’t know why, but he’s suddenly reminded of his mother. Her unreadable expression when asked about life before America. He thinks he can see it now. 

He guesses all Chinese families are the same, then, seeing how things operate here. He’s been poor and now he’s been up to his neck in the well-to-do. But it’s all the same obligation, the one that runs thicker than blood. Do you like them? Do you love them? Don’t answer that, you don’t need to. Either way you would die for them, sacrifice everything you have. 

You lose family and you lose everything. 

Now Donghyuck understands what his mother lost when she left. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ This was always what it was all about, wasn't it? Keeping a pretty image far away from anything less than pristine. Disassociating from anything less than perfect. Cutting ties, breaking hearts, burning bridges because you can afford to. This is the world of the crazy rich asians.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


And now they put it into action. 

Bright lights, sparkling gardens, colours that dance off the bay and shimmer in the night sky. Donghyuck didn’t even know it was possible to rent out the sky trees at Gardens By the Bay, but he guesses anything is possible given the right kind of persuasion, and/or the right amount of money. So much for keeping composure? Half of the guests here are drunk off their faces. 

Renjun included, but maybe that’s all part of the plan. 

Donghyuck has had a few drinks of his own, but they haven’t done much to erase his dismay at the events that happened earlier today. He feels a little fuzzy around the corners, though, as he stumbles through the technicolour labyrinth of sequined dancers and vibrant music that rings deep in his lungs. Where  _ is _ Mark?

Maybe here he can dance a little on his own, drink in the flashy lights and pretty party dresses forming a blurry mosaic that spins all around him with the slight turn of a head. Oh, how heavy his head feels, but how pretty this whole scene is. His mouth feels like it’s on fire and his feet feel so light underneath him. 

Two figures he can almost-identify to be Renjun and Lucas are currently making out rather colourfully in the middle of it all. Donghyuck knows because he nearly bumped into them on his little trip to find his boyfriend. Good for them! Good for them. 

And now to find Mark. Donghyuck hadn’t gotten a chance to see him properly since the tea ceremony, and it feels like ages have passed since then. “Where's the loverboy?” a stranger taunts, as he picks up his pace and starts jogging around. He’s starting to feel a little anxious, like a child who’s lost their family in a supermarket, but he’s trying not to let that show. Is it working? He doesn’t know, but by now the alcohol’s kicked in and he’s lost a substantial chunk of his social awareness.

_ Oof. _ he trips on the stiletto of someone’s heel. Make that spatial awareness, too. Goodness, this place is nice and all but right now all he wants is to go home. 

He reaches a part of the venue that’s a little further away from the music, a little less crowded in terms of people. It’s a courtyard that looks like a deck. A deck that looks like a courtyard. Donghyuck can’t properly process what his surroundings actually look like right now but the floor of this place is made of wooden planks instead of the usual concrete that makes up the rest of the venue. There’s lights on the floor. Floor lights!  _ Oh. _

He frowns, brow furrowing in concern and lips pursing to form a pout. 

“Donghyuck!” A familiar voice calls, from behind him. His ears perk up the slightest bit, but his focus on the floor doesn’t waver. 

“Muck,” he slurs, a little sadly, “look.” 

“What’s wrong, Donghyuck?” Mark asks, a little concerned when he runs up to him and sees his boyfriend’s forlorn disposition. 

“Look,” he repeats, pointing to the floor, and Mark frowns, puzzled. 

“It’s the floor, Duck. Is everything okay?” 

“No,” Donghyuck whines. “The stars have fallen out of the sky.” 

“The stars?” He smiles at this. “Duck, have you had a little too much to drink?”

“No!” he snaps adamantly, but Mark doesn’t falter. “The stars have fallen. This is one of them! Oh, Mark, I have assignments to grade back in my apartment, let’s go home. Muck I don’t like it here I’m so scared. I have to go mark papers-,” he cuts off suddenly and slumps his shoulders. 

“Hey, hey,” Mark says, softly. He’s not taller than Donghyuck is, but the way Donghyuck’s posture has him standing like a downcast child has him crane his neck a little to meet his eyes. He lifts a hand to gently turn up the point of his chin, and murmurs, “You okay?”

Donghyuck sighs again, tears pricking the sides of his eyes. “Mark I want to go home.  _ Please _ .” 

“Of course, Duck, anything you want. Do you need me to carry you?”

Donghyuck nods smally, and Mark bends his knees carefully for him to climb onto his back. 

  
  
  


He falls asleep with his head on his shoulder, muttering snippets of who-knows-what into his ear as they make their way through the party to the parking lot. 

Mark sees two women seated at a bench somewhere in front of him, and when he gets closer he comes to make them out to be his mother and Ahma. As smoothly as he can, he jogs towards them to let them know that he and Donghyuck are leaving back to their hotel early, that Donghyuck had a little too much to drink and it’s better if he gets some rest. 

No response. 

His mother bows her head and stares, defeated, at the floor. His grandmother stares at him disappointedly. 

And Mark will never be able to erase this picture from his head- the one of her shaking her head, silently like he’s betrayed her and something much, much bigger. The one of his strong, defiant mother cowering like he’s the predator in this story. Like he's the one hurting her.

And no amount of music will be able to drown out the silent ‘him or us’ that’s bled into every single second of this god-forsaken trip. 

He didn’t even know the choice was one or the other, but he’s chosen Donghyuck, as it seems. 

He hangs his head and turns the other way , wanting so badly for something to happen, something to stop him, but he’s grown up now. His decisions are his own to live. _ Isn’t this what you wanted as a child, the freedom to choose? _

The rest of the night feels like a nightmare, if today’s events weren’t already enough of one. 

They get into a random taxi on stand-by, Mark slowly letting Donghyuck into the backseat, then closing the door and taking the seat next to him. They drive past the party, ignoring the sounds of Renjun and Lucas quarreling somewhere in the background as they pass it momentarily. 

And they go home. 

To the hotel, of course. But home has never felt so far away from Mark, now that he doesn’t know where it is. 

  
  
  


_ Surely he’s too old for growing pains _ , he tells himself. 

Or are these the aches of being in control for the first time?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Mark curses at himself when he wakes up and sees the empty wine bottle lying on the floor next to their hotel bed. Then he does it again when he sits up a little and feels like his head is about to split in half from excruciating pain. 

_ Goodness _ . Looks like someone forgot to pray before bed. 

He pats around the nightstand messily to reach for his glasses, but instead feels the smooth cardboard of a cup. Groans a bit out of pain when he turns his head fully and sees a cup of instant ramen, and, next to it, a thermos of boiling water. He crawls a little closer and sees that there’s a note written on yellow paper. Donghyuck’s handwriting tells him that he’ll be out for a bit, but he should eat the noodles and then go back to sleep. 

Mark nearly cries at the gesture. Donghyuck even made a point to give him chopsticks. 

It’s both a curse and a blessing that out of the two of them, Mark is the one that gets hung over after drinking the previous night, but today he thanks the heavens. (And Donghyuck, with a quick text message).

  
  


Though if there’s one thing on his mind other than the disastrous events that took place the night prior, it’s the palm-sized box that he’s got tucked into the lining of his suitcase, the shiny reminder of a no-going-back decision he’s made ever since they arrived here. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Donghyuck comes back with a box of cut watermelon pieces when he returns to their hotel room just several minutes later, and through mouthfuls of spicy broth Mark is more sure than ever. 

He sits down on the bed next to him, lightly presses a kiss into his cheek and says, with a straight face, “Mark, we need to talk.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The smooth, messy clacking of tiles. Swift, calculated, controlled. Multiply that by about twenty and you’ve got the sound Irene is met with as she strides into the mahjong parlour, jade-coloured purse in hand. Most of the players here are her age or older, and playing without having brought any money. Irene? Well, she  _ is _ money. 

She looks almost out of place here, Donghyuck thinks to himself with a hint of amusement. Formidable, expensive, Irene Bae with her designer pantsuit and million-dollar disposition. Everyone else in the room is dressed simply, as is the norm for such a regular-class suburb. 

Swift, calculated, controlled, is how she finds a spot for herself at the table in the centre of the busy room. The Eastern seat has been left empty for her.  _ Polite _ , she thinks, nodding in acknowledgement at Donghyuck, who is already seated opposite her waiting. He’s given her the first move. 

Irene Bae plays in the same way she does anything else in life. Stone-cold, ruthless, and if she loses she goes down without a flinch. No one has seen a tiger cry. 

How does Donghyuck know she’s losing this round? Why, because he’s got the tile she needs to win. Or claw her way to survival, at the very least. 

Oh.

He’s miscalculated. 

He learns this when Irene places down a pair of identical tiles. An  _ eye _ . 

“Aiya, win! Let’s play another round,” the lady sitting to the right of Donghyuck and the left of Irene exclaims in Hokkien, tossing her hand into the centre playing field upside-down, then using both hands to shuffle around the tiles. The rest of the table joins in. 

  
  
  
  


In the thick of this next round, though, Donghyuck lets the cat out of the bag. “Well, he proposed to me yesterday,” he says, a dangerous amount of nonchalance spilling out of his jaw. Drilling his eyes into the pearly white tile in his hand, the eight of bamboo, he lets the aftertaste of those six careless words paint his tongue with shades of fearlessness. 

He’s almost sure that he’s got the calculations right this time. He’s got to have. 

Irene knows just as much. A flicker of something unreadable crosses her eyes, and the fact that it’s anything other than hatred feels like a slap to the face. 

“Aiyo auntie,” the other woman nags. “Faster, can or not?”

Irene ignores the uncomfortably informal comment and discards a tile, a plain white one carved with the traditional Chinese character ‘west’ and painted with costume gold. 

It’ll be his turn soon. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, as the woman next to him chooses her next move. “I said no.” 

That gets her attention. 

It’s a look of curiosity on her face more than anything else, and Donghyuck continues to speak. 

“Say I got married to Mark and we both moved back to New York indefinitely, he would lose his family forever.” He pauses. “Say I didn’t, he would spend the rest of his life hating you.” 

He’s staring back with equal if not higher intensity, never once breaking his gaze.  _ Why isn’t she saying something? Why isn’t she telling the truth and defending herself? _

“You know why,” she says simply, as if reading his mind. “Or maybe you wouldn’t. We’ll see.” 

The ball’s in his court now, and she waits on the other side, expectantly. 

Any time, now. 

Something catches his eye somewhere behind Irene, and it reminds him of why he’s doing this. It’s a reassurance.  _ Do what’s right,  _ he tells himself in his head.  _ You’ve already won.  _

That eight of bamboo he has, placed unimportantly at the end of his row? He picks it up again, not looking back at his selection of tiles. He doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need it. 

And so it goes, back into the middle. A sacrifice for Irene. A sacrifice for the greater good. That’s what family’s about, isn’t it? 

It doesn’t matter if you’re poor, or worse, American. It doesn’t matter if your mother ran away from her abusive husband at age nineteen with eight hundred dollars in her pocket and a son she had yet to give birth to. It doesn’t matter how far away from China you could travel, because the blood that runs from your heart and out of it, it remembers your roots all the same. 

Money’s thrilling to gamble with, but in reality they’ve both lost. 

Fair and square. 

“So when Mark brings home and marries someone who you deem suitable, someone who’s one of your kind, it will have been because of me. A lowly, immigrant son who was brought up by a single mother. Someone who will never have been enough.”

When Donghyuck spares Irene a final look, he sees something genuine, for the first time. Something wholesome. If he’s not mistaken, those are tears in her eyes. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore. She doesn’t. 

He bows when he gets out of his seat, then leaves behind the parlour to meet his mother outside. 

  
  
  


A thousand feelings rush to his mind as he feels her fling her arms around his shoulders, and he feels almost lightheaded with relief. 

He’s home. 


	6. epilogue: synonymous

The blessings never come. Donghyuck doesn’t expect them to. 

Even as they’re clinking glasses with each and every guest and their auntie at the party on New Year’s Eve. Even when Jeno gets up on the platform, honeymoon tan tinting his cheekbones, and gives the two of them his congratulations, Irene Bae stands at the back somewhere, nodding soberly with an untouched flute of champagne in hand. 

“Stay with me, Donghyuck. I’ve talked to my mum about it I swear I have,” Mark had pleaded, as they’d packed their belongings and were waiting for different taxis downstairs, in the hotel lobby. 

“Mark, I can’t do this to you and your family. This is for the best,” Donghyuck would reply, adding, quietly, “Please. Don’t make this harder than it already is.” 

“Donghyuck…” 

“Mark.” He had said, firmly as if the tears in Mark’s eyes didn’t make him feel like he was crumbling inside over and over again. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” 

He turns around and walks fast, pretending the speed will suppress the shattering in his chest and burning behind his eyes. This is for the best. This is for the family. Telling this to himself in his head like a prayer doesn’t make it hurt any less, but when he gets in the backseat next to his mother and casts one last look at his lover, it’s all he can do. 

And oh, how it pains him. The silence in the car sounds like knives hammering relentlessly into the back of his head, until it doesn’t. 

The ring of her phone. Donghyuck’s mum has always been one to pick up calls from strangers. 

“Hello?”  
“Yes, that is me.”  
“Oh?” Her eyes widen. 

“Donghyuck,” the voice says from the phone, a voice he knows all too well. 

And, well, that’s all that he needs. 

For him to nod to his mum and tell the driver to stop. For him to fling open the door and sprint all the way back to the hotel lobby. For him to run into Mark’s arms and stay there because he’s family. And Donghyuck is, too. 

“Marry me,” Mark would sniff into his shoulder, “please.”

“And if I said no?” Donghyuck would reply, through hiccups. He knows.

“I would get on my knees and beg.”

“You’re embarrassing.”

“Is that a yes or what?”

“Of course it’s a yes, idiot.”

“Shut up, laogong.”

“Laogong!” Donghyuck bursts into a fresh wave of tears. “We’re old now, Muck.”

“Too old.”

“Never too old…” 

… for Mark to kiss Donghyuck on the mouth before they can finish. For Donghyuck to fist the back of Mark’s t-shirt, pulling him closer in the hotel lobby. For fairytale endings. For miracles. 

They’re about to leave when Donghyuck is left alone with Irene again. It’s in the corridor, outside the bathroom of the venue that’s not nearly dim enough to obscure the glow in his heart. 

“You and I,” she says, slowly, “we are the same kind of person.” 

To which, Donghyuck doesn’t really know how to reply. He inhales and opens his mouth to answer but the words never really leave his lips, and he stands there with his mouth hanging open like a schoolboy asked to explain himself. A kid who doesn’t know how to be apologised to properly by parents, because it’s never happened before. 

This isn’t a formal apology, he knows, but he’s almost thankful, because if the word ‘sorry’ ever did come out of Irene Bae’s mouth directed to him Donghyuck thinks he would simply pass out, then and there. 

Irene seems to know this too. She nods at him, solemnly, all the hostility from before having long gone to make way for something else. Donghyuck still doesn’t know, but he thinks it does feel like acceptance this time, truly. And he thinks that is enough of a blessing. 

Two tigers, circling each other after a battle. Neither in victory, nor in defeat. 

What makes the world go round? 

Money, Donghyuck would have said a few months ago, but after really seeing it, he reckons there's more than what meets the eye. 

“What makes the world go round?”

Mark asks, because he's asked it before but he reckons he’ll hear something different this time. Family, home, you. 

(These things are synonymous in Donghyuck's head) 

"A whole lot, Muck. A whole lot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow congrats if you read all of [gestures vaguely] this. thank you for doing so! i am not that proud of the writing but i did put a bit of my Actual Heart in here and so i am att*ched to it or something.. feelings or something..... gross..................  
> thank you to the dc mods for organising this fest! it must have been rather stressful to see everyone including me Not work on their pieces until (quite literally) the last minute. whoever you are, i pat you on the back and cut up some fruit for you to eat. you've worked hard. 
> 
> now that reveals are done i'd like to thank nee (moonfleur) again for beta-ing and motivating me for these two-ish months! you're one of my most supportive mutuals and i'm so glad to have met a fellow sg/aus person. nee bestest!
> 
> and you! yes you. thank you for reading and do let me know if you liked this! [i gesture towards the comment section] my twitter and cc are both @/dreamscng if you would like to further scream with me. your response means the world <3


End file.
